Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel
by aCupofJo
Summary: Two parties, one week and three days, and struggling to find the right words to say. Content and rating may vary, contains language, suggestive themes, mind-altering substances, Puckleberry bromance, and some delicious Faberry with a dash of smut.
1. Part I: Preparation

_**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel — Part I**_

* * *

_December 23, 2012 — 5:00 a.m._

* * *

"There's money in the kitchen—"

"A spare house key on the key rack—"

"The laundry's done—"

"Don't forget to pick up the mail—"

"Dad! Daddy!" Rachel interrupts, laughing gently as her two fathers bustle in the entryway to gather their entire luggage. They pause once their daughter breaks through their rants, Leroy's bag strap barely on shoulder and Hiram holding up a suitcase to hand over to his partner.

"This isn't the first time you will be leaving me home alone for a week and two days," she explains, dancing over to place her dad's bag strap the rest of the way onto his shoulder and place a small kiss on his cheek.

"Yes, but we feel bad that we're leaving you for Christmas and," her daddy counters, halting to let Rachel kiss him on the cheek as well, "New Year's. We feel bad. Are you sure you don't want to come along? We can pay for another ticket; ours were free!"

"No, it'll be fine," Rachel says, smiling, holding her hands together in front of her.

"Well, we'll call you Christmas morning and on January 1st, alright?" Rachel's dad says over his shoulder as he opens the door.

"Sure," Rachel agrees. She pulls her bathrobe she always wears in the mornings tighter around her shoulders. A cold draft swept through as soon as the front door opened and it was biting, the perfect temperature for snow if they were ever so lucky to get the weather for it. It snowed some a couple days ago but the sun had been out since then and melted most of it away. Now it was just wet and gross and cold out and Rachel couldn't be bothered to even go for a run anymore.

Helping with them with a suitcase, Rachel follows her fathers down the damp sidewalk to their car, wondering what possessed her to forget putting on her fuzzy slippers. As she's walking, her fathers a couple paces ahead, chatting excitedly and both hands preoccupied with other luggage, there's a small _snap_ and Rachel yelps.

"Something wrong, darling?" Hiram asks, looking over his glasses at Rachel behind them.

Looking where she just stepped, she sees a little piece of white paper-like material that flutters away in the breeze and some small rocks. Looking up, she smiles reassuringly and passes it off with, "Just a rock that surprised me, everything is alright."

Leroy and Hiram pop the trunk to their car and expertly load their bags as they have done many times before to go on cruises their jobs had offered free tickets for. They have done his enough to know just how to arrange their belongings to take up the least amount of space and keep their clothing and footwear from being disturbed in their suitcases. Rachel sets the bag she was carrying down and again, wraps her bathrobe tight around her. After a moment, Leroy straightens up from his work, turns to see Rachel shivering slightly, and wraps a jacketed arm around her shoulders.

"You can go inside, Rachel," he says, putting another kiss on the top of her head. "It's really cold outside."

"No, I'd like to see you both leave," Rachel says, smiling up at the tall man. He returns the smile just as his partner sighs triumphantly and finishes with their last suitcase, shutting the trunk. Hiram turns and claps his hands together, ready to get on the road by the look of his grin.

"We'll call, remember," Hiram says, squeezing Rachel's small shoulder. "Let's go, Le!"

After a hug from both of her fathers, Rachel stays where she stands to watch them get into their car, start up the engine, and wave out their windows as they pull out of the driveway. She waves as they turn and head off down the dim street, seeing as it's still early in the morning, and then they disappear behind the next row of houses, on their way to their cruise.

Without even moving, another _snap_ sounds and Rachel jumps, pulling her left foot away from a momentary spark of pain. Looking down, she sees the same white paper-like material and the little rocks spilling out of it, and stooping to pick it up, she realizes what it is just as she stands and turns to the face the direction she guessed the—

"Snappers!" Pucks exclaims, standing from the bushes he was hiding in near the front of the house. He holds out a little cellophane bag of sawdust and snappers as he approaches Rachel, a grin wide on his face. Once he's near, Rachel takes one from the bag and throws it at his chest. It merely bounces off and lands between his feet with another _pop_.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks incredulously with a ghost of a smile on her face. To think Puck had been sitting in her bushes for God knows how long with his little bag of fireworks so he could tease Rachel as she helps her dads leave is kind of funny… and just like him. Besides his nose being a little red, he seems to have weathered the cold pretty well.

"A guy like me tends to know when his hot little Jewish American Princess's dads are out of town," he drawls out, smirking as he takes another snapper and throws it at Rachel's still bare feet. She wasn't planning on staying outside long and now it was really beginning to affect her.

"Yes, because I told you!" Rachel replies, smacking his hand away. She shifts on her feet and then groans, "Just come inside, I can't feel my toes."

"I was going to anyways," Puck says, wounding a thick arm around Rachel's neck and practically dragging her up to her house, bag of snappers being tucked away into his jacket pocket. "So what do you have planned for Christmas?"

"Well, my dads did leave my presents under the tree for me to open Christmas morning," Rachel says loosely as they step back through the door and into the welcoming warmth of her house. Puck shrugs off his fur-lined jacket and hangs it on the coat rack before kicking off his muddy boots besides the door. "But I was just going to have a quiet morning, make myself a nice breakfast—"

"Whoa, quiet?" Puck interrupts, laughing a bit. He passes Rachel and goes into the kitchen, leaving the little diva to follow behind. In the kitchen, Puck picks through the remainders of breakfast on the stove that her fathers made, which meant it was actual food and not vegan substitute. "First off, you know I'm going to be here, one way or another. Mom's more than likely going to be off bar-hopping so I can just grab my two presents and bring them over here."

"Three," Rachel says, hiding a smile as she sits at her family's little round table and takes another bite of what's left of her little vegan breakfast.

"Three?" Puck repeats, leaning against the counter with a fork of eggs stalled before his mouth.

"Three," Rachel affirms, looking up, a smile on her face. "Did you really think I wouldn't get you something?"

After a moment, Puck tosses the fork onto the egg pan and takes a couple giant strides through the small kitchen, closing the distance between them to cup the back of Rachel's head and put a strong kiss on her forehead. He finishes with a loud smack and collapses into a seat opposite Rachel, a big smile on his face that Rachel only ever gets the chance to see. "Thanks, Rache."

"Of course," Rachel says, beaming now even as she takes her last bite of cooled veggies. Then suddenly, Puck slaps a hand somewhat angrily down on the table. "What?"

"I didn't get you anything," he says, lifting the same hand to bite on his thumb nail, a habit he does when he's thinking Rachel's come to realize. He sits forward, digging into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulls out his wallet. Looking up, a couple fingers in the slot where he keeps his money, he asks, "How much was my present?"

"Noah," Rachel says, tilting her head. "You don't have to pay me for the present _I_ bought _you_."

Puck grumbles and puts his wallet back, back to biting his nail. As Rachel is standing to put her dish in the sink and start on cleaning the stove, Puck spins in his chair, smile alight.

"I know how I can break even," he says, voice louder with anticipation.

"Yes?" Rachel says without looking at the Mohawk-ed boy. She picks up a scrubber and starts cleaning off the egg pan underneath a spray from the faucet, soap suds building up where she passes over.

"I'll host a party! Here!"

The brush Rachel is cleaning with slips and the sleeve of her bathrobe dips into the dirty water. Slapping the faucet off, Rachel turns with a hard expression and crosses her arms over her chest, feeling a drip from her sleeve hit her bare foot. They're still cold.

"What?" Puck asks innocently, seeing the expression and dropping his.

"The last time we had a party here, I made out with Blaine, half my dads' liquor cabinet was empty and only miraculously stocked the night before the morning they returned home, and my show room basement was _trashed_. Besides, how will that be breaking even with the present I bought you?"

"Okay, look," Puck starts, standing and approaching the brunette. He places a hand on her shoulder and looks down at her. The look that passes his features reminds Rachel of when someone loses their train of thought. "Damn, you're so short."

"_Noah…_"

"Okay, listen," he starts again, shaking his head, "Finn is a dipshit. He may have been DD that night but that didn't stop him from not looking out for you. You got drunk and that's why you made out with a gay dude. With me, I can make sure that doesn't happen again. As for your dads' liquor cabinet, I still pulled through, didn't I?" He looks at Rachel expectantly until she rolls her eyes and nods. "It may have been a close call, but I still held out and your dads were none the wiser. Lastly, I _promise_ I will clean your entire house—"

"My _entire house_?" Rachel cuts, eyes widening at the prospect of the party not being limited to downstairs.

"Well, yeah, there's going to be too many people for down—"

"Who else are you thinking of inviting, Noah?" Rachel stops him again, voice rising. She slips from between him and the sink still full of dirty water and half cleaned dishes, needing air.

"Well, just a couple more people and the Glee club," Noah says, voice dropping in comparison. When Rachel gets angry or even a fraction of angry, it can be a scary sight for someone so small. Puck's been on the receiving end of her anger, just once, and he'd rather not have to be again

"You still haven't proven how this will be a present for me," Rachel says, voice returning to normal though her eyes are now narrowed suspiciously.

"I get to invite Quinn," he says.

With that name, Rachel's heart stutters and her lips part in what would the smallest of a gaping mouth. A million thoughts run through her head and the more they begin to process from the rest, the more she feels the symptoms of panic kicking in. Of course Noah is her best friend, has been for a while after all they have gone through sophomore and junior year, and she tells him almost everything. But that's it; she tells him _almost_ everything. What she hasn't told Noah, the _one_ thing she hasn't told him or anyone else, are the very confusing and inappropriate feelings she has for one recently back-to-blonde, ex-Cheerio who has only become her friend in the simplest meanings of the term. They're confusing because up until she realized she harbored feelings for Quinn, she thought she liked boys. They're confusing because Quinn has been her tormenter since the day high school started until she finally convinced the tall girl to dye back her awful pink hair and join Glee club again. They're confusing because despite their history, Rachel never hated Quinn when she was sure Quinn hated her and how can you have feelings for someone who used to ridicule every chance they got? They're just confusing and if there is one person she wishes she could discuss it with, it would be Noah, but she has never had the courage to tell him. But now, it seems like he's the one who's about to tell her.

Abruptly, gentle arms are wrapping around her shoulders and Puck is pulling her into a hug. His mouth is on the top of her head as he speaks, "Look, Rache, I know. You don't have to tell me… I read your diary."

"Noah!" Rachel snaps, pushing the bulky teen from their hug even though he was just trying to be comforting. "When have you ever read my diary?"

"The night I snuck in through your window," he says, eyes wide like he couldn't believe he admitted that himself. He might've wanted to admit the part about knowing about Quinn but not where he got the information from. "My mom was missing and I didn't want to sleep in that hellhole if I could help it, so when I climbed through your window, I saw you hiding your diary in the drawer at your desk. Once you were asleep… I read a couple pages."

"Noah Puckerman!" Rachel shrieks, planting a hand over her chest like what she's hearing is actually painful. Instead, her face is flushed with heat and panic is soon drowned out by embarrassment. "How could you?"

"Rachel, it's no big deal!" Noah says, holding up his hands. "Everything but Quinn I knew about anyways! I just wanted to see if you had any dirty thoughts about me—"

"You're like my brother, Noah."

"I know that! Anyways, like I said, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I knew everything you were writing about in your diary until I came across mentions of Quinn. It just so happened that same night, you wrote a real entry about her and it finally clicked."

With a deep sigh, Rachel moves to her chair and sits down in it, hiding her face in folded arms atop the table. She can hear Puck's heavy socks pad across the tile of the kitchen and then feels the table flex as he sits in his seat across from her and leans on the top.

"It's okay, Rachel." His voice is soft and understanding. "I wasn't disgusted or thought anything less of Santana when everyone found out she was a lesbian. It's even more important to me because you're the closest I got to a family."

Rachel lifts her head from the table at his words, seeing his dark eyes somber as they look at her. He reaches across the table and finds her hand beneath her arm, pulling it out to stroke a rough thumb over the back of her palm. He gives a half-hearted smile, just wanting Rachel to know he understands, and they sit in comfortable silence for a little bit until Rachel can find her voice.

"You are never allowed in my room again," Rachel says, laughing a little to herself as she wipes her eyes where tears of humiliation had begun to collect. Pucks groans jokingly but breaks into a small smile. If Rachel is talking, then it didn't matter what she says as long as she isn't closing up to him. "And I'm not gay. Well, a little but then I'm just bisexual. I don't know, I've never thought about it before."

"It's alright," Puck speaks up, thumb still running over Rachel's smooth hand. "You don't have to. It's new and different, so it can be scary. Everyone was scared for Santana but you have me and I can be all the support you need, no one else has to find out. Us Jews need to stick together."

Rachel gives another watery laugh and sniffs.

"So, yes or no?" Pucks inquires gently, referring to the party. He ducks his head to catch Rachel's eyes again.

It's stupid of Rachel to ever think she couldn't talk to Puck about this sort of thing. Sure, to everyone else, he is the biggest badass of them all, with a supposed thick shell and a habit for having sex with anything that moves and has a heartbeat. But to the very few who are close to him and can get under his hard skin, he is loyal and sweet and the girls that rank highest in his life are Beth, Rachel, and Quinn. He will do anything for them and he has proven that to Rachel more times than she can count, even if he has his own way of doing things.

"Yes," Rachel finds herself saying. The next thing she knows, Puck is scooting his chair around the table and puts an arm around her again, pulling against his side and hugging her. It's still early in the morning and with her head tucked beneath his chin, his warm breath washing over her shoulder, she closes her eyes and is out like a light.

* * *

The doorbell rings and Rachel jolts up. A blanket is wrapped around her waist and she is still wearing her night clothes and bathrobe. Glancing at the big mirror on the other side of the living room from where she's sitting up on the couch, her hair is all mussed up and she's breathing quickly in surprise. Was it Christmas Eve already?

Jumping to her feet, she re-ties her bathrobe and hurries to the front door when Puck bounds down the stairs. He spots Rachel hurrying over before he opens the door and smiles, "Good morning, Princess!"

"What day is it?" Rachel asks breathlessly, matting down her hair the best she can before they answer the door. She can hear a voice on the other side and tries to look through the peephole.

"The same day, Rache— the 23rd," Puck explains like it's obvious and she didn't just wake up from a morning nap, all disoriented. He reaches in front of her and opens the door, revealing only Sam Evans.

"Hey, man!" Puck greets, gripping fists with the blonde boy as he steps inside and kicks off his equally muddy shoes besides Puck's.

"What—" Rachel tries to ask but Sam's big jacket is muffling her as he hugs her tightly. Then he steps past her and shrugs off his jacket, a case of Miller Light in one hand, which Puck takes gratefully, and inside his jacket, a couple packages of fireworks.

"Why do you have fireworks?" Rachel asks, following dumbly behind the two boys as they move back into the kitchen.

"I invited Sam over to help me with planning the party for tomorrow," Puck says giddily, taking a beer and cracking the top off. Before he can take a drink, Rachel snatches the bottle from his hand, "It's three in the afternoon!"

Puck shrugs but Sam speaks up, "I brought some party favors over early. And about the fireworks… what kind of holiday doesn't have fireworks, let alone a party?" He whoops and high-fives Puck, resulting in an eye roll from Rachel as she puts the opened beer in the refrigerator.

"So what is on the agenda for today?" Sam asks, sitting in the third seat of the three at the table. Rachel joins the two of them at the table, hands in her lap as Puck takes a notepad he has stuck in the waistband of his jeans and a pen from behind his ear.

"We only have a day before the party, and even though the last one here went without a hitch… _after_ we got the booze, there still needs to be more alcohol for this one," Puck starts, pointing out a bullet of scratchy handwriting.

"Why do we need more alcohol?" Rachel asks, leaning over to get a better look at the notepad.

"Because there are some drinks in your fathers liquor cabinet that cannot be replaced or would be very hard and expensive to. I've already went through and made a list of inventory as to which ones we can drink and which ones need to be locked up again."

"While I was asleep?" Rachel asks, looking up and narrowing her eyes again. Puck flashes a charming smile before returning to the list. "Wait, it was locked… did you pick the lock, Puck?"

"Sam, we need two more cases of beer for extra measure, Solo cups because Rache's supply is weak, ping pong balls, duct tape, and Christmas-themed party decorations," Puck instructs, ignoring Rachel's questions.

"My dads and I already put up Christmas decorations," Rachel says but upon looking up, the kitchen was nearly bare of said decorations. "Where are the decorations?"

"I took them down and stored them neatly so they wouldn't be ruined and your dads wouldn't notice there was ever a party," Puck explains, tearing off the list he said prior to hand over to Sam. Sam looks over the list, an adorable smile coming to his big mouth, and he absently runs a hand through his bangs that had begun to fall into his eyes.

"How long have I been asleep?" Rachel asks rhetorically, standing to look at the living room again.

Out of the kitchen, she can see what all Puck has done since she passed out. Her house looks like it wasn't prepared for the holidays and she notes that a couple of the more expensive paintings and items throughout are missing, more than likely stowed away as Puck had said before. Backtracking, Rachel goes up to her room, expecting to see something different but finding there is nothing out of place. She even checks her drawer and her diary is right where she placed it; perfectly aligned in the back right corner with her pen placed directly on top. Shutting her drawer, she shrugs her shoulders, take a deep breath, and goes into the bathroom for a shower, deciding it best to just leave the boys to their work. Once under the warm jet of water, she can feel the tension and panic from earlier in the morning melt off her shoulders. It's like a weight has been taken off her chest at finally being able to talk to Puck about Quinn. As she starts to lather her hair with shampoo, she closes her eyes and soon imagines its Quinn's fingers that are scratching lightly along her scalp, Quinn's palms massaging her neck, Quinn's body that's keeping her warm instead of just the water of the shower. Rachel steps under the spray and washes away the shampoo from her hair and face, running her hands down her stomach. She conditions her hair and gets as far as scrubbing down her body, idly thinking about her house after the party and what different scenarios between her and Quinn might play out, when there's a knock on the locked bathroom door.

"Sam went back out to get the stuff on the list," comes Puck's muffled voice. Rachel wipes water from her eyes to make sure he isn't peeping and then says back, "Okay, I'll be out soon!"

"Don't forget to shave!" Puck laughs until he yelps at the sound of an empty lather bottle hitting the door.

Ten more minutes and Rachel steps back into her bedroom, hair up in a towel, one wrapped over her chest. She moves to her wardrobe when she notices the one drawer is slightly open, and she always makes sure to have them properly shut. Looking around, she notices the underwear and sweatpants laid out for her on her made bed, and with a sigh and a smile she can't help, she changes into the chosen clothing before taking her hair out to air-dry.

Downstairs, Puck is in the kitchen, putting away cleaned dishes from the dishwasher. Rachel rubs the towel in her hair still as she watches Puck act the perfect image of a father, putting away silverware and cleaning up the counters. After a few minutes, Puck looks up and gives a smile that says he is only just realizing he's been watched.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asks, shutting the empty dishwasher.

"Long enough," Rachel states, throwing the towel over the back of a chair, "You're really going all out, aren't you?"

"Trying," he sighs, sitting in his chair and wiping his face. "It's going to be a bigger party so it needs more preparation. Dude, I should be a party planner."

Rachel laughs, not bothering to explain what an actual party planner really plans. Puck pulls out the notepad again and looks through the list before smiling wide and leaning back in his seat, holding his hands behind his head. His warm eyes drift back to the brunette.

"Want to order something to eat? By the time it gets here, Sam should be back."

"That sounds good," Rachel agrees, standing and opening a drawer near the refrigerator. She pulls out a Chinese menu, looks over the vegan options she's highlighted, and deciding one of them sounds delectable, shuts the drawer and hands it over for Puck to browse. He takes the menu and lays it out on the table, reading, as Rachel heads back upstairs real quick to grab her phone. She has two messages, one from each of her fathers but both saying they love her and to be safe. She chuckles and turns the screen back off, joining Puck once more just as he's dialing the number to order.

After the order is placed, Puck throws his phone back down on the table and eyes Rachel.

"What?" she asks, narrowing her own brown eyes.

"Just thinking about the best way to get you and Q together tomorrow night," he says slowly, as though he is thinking.

Rachel leans across the table to serve a punch to his arm. "I'm not like _you_, Noah."

"Oh, come on, Rache," he says, rubbing his arm where she pegged him, "you're _pretty_ hot."

Another punch is delivered to the other arm.

"Okay, okay! But what are you going to do?"

Color returns to Rachel's cheeks as her stomach does a nervous roll. What is she going to do? Not trusting her voice, which is an odd thing for her, she shrugs.

"Awh, Rachel's shy," Puck teases, his turn to reach across and pinch at Rachel's arms. She swats his hands away before saying, "I just don't know how to bring… anything up."

"Dude, you always know what to say," Puck says, leaning back in his chair, "even if we don't want to hear it."

"I'm not going to be annoying at my own party," Rachel counters, frowning slightly. On a second thought, "Or get too drunk."

"But you have to drink," Puck says, taking the beer bottle cap from earlier and spinning it on the table.

"I do need some liquid courage, yes," Rachel admits, watching the cap spin.

"No worries, it's like math," Puck starts, letting the cap fall from its spin. "Two buzzed chicks equals one drunk pair."

"What kind of math is that?"

"Like fractions. One half plus one half equals one whole."

"Either I hang out with you too much or that actually makes sense."

"I call it a Fractions Method," Puck says, smirking. "Say there are four girls. All four of them get buzzed but together they equal a drunken quadruplet. Now say three of the girls get buzzed and one stays sober. That fraction that still has a voice of reason is not part of the quadruplet. Also, she counts as a buzz kill and the rest have to suffer."

"You're an idiot."

"Thank you, I designed it myself."

"Puck, you owe 14.30," Sam's voice says from the entryway. Puck stands, pulling out his wallet, as Sam walks into the kitchen carrying their Chinese dinner. He selects a box that has "vegan" written across the top to place in front of Rachel with a smile. A moment later, Puck joins them and grabs the box that has his order written out on top.

"What are we talking about?" Sam asks as he sits down and opens a box of fried shrimp and rice. He digs a fork in and shovels an amount into his large mouth.

"The Fractions Method," Puck says nonchalantly, picking at his Bang Bang Ji, before putting some of the chicken in his mouth with the green paste. He hums in delight and stabs another piece to shove into his mouth. Rachel sighs shortly through her nose at the boys' eating habits.

Sam nods in understanding and takes another bite of his rice before standing and opening the fridge. Rachel shakes her head at wondering how Sam understands this "method" when Sam returns with Puck's previously opened beer and one for himself.

"Aren't we going to save those for the party?" Rachel asks, eyeing them as they take a swig.

"We have plenty of other drinks," Puck says, taking another bite of his food. "We can have two beers, Rache."

Rachel shrugs as she eats her crispy skin tofu.

* * *

The rest of the day is spent with the three of them redecorating the house with Sam's tacky Christmas party decorations and storing what drinks need to be refrigerated and the others in a cabinet with the Solo cups. Puck finds a plastic table from the garage to use for beer pong and after he sets it up in a corner of the living room, he and Sam play a round with a couple bottles of Smirnoff Ice Sam found in his basement after grabbing some clothes to inevitably stay the night. Sam wins the game though it could be supposed that Puck just wanted to drink. Meanwhile, Rachel finds them a crappy Christmas movie on Lifetime and has it playing on the TV in the background as they put away the last of the household items they deem too valuable to be broken. When the last of the details are just being primped, Puck slumps into the couch, polishing off the last of his beer from earlier, and pulls out his phone.

"Time to start spreading the word," Puck announces, his voice holding a devious lilt to it. Rachel sits on the couch beside him and rolls her eyes, but watches as he selects every contact in his phone that doesn't include parents, work, or school, and fires off the same message about a Christmas Party Bash at the Berry Residence, including her address and the mention of music, booze and food, and no last calls, much to Rachel's chagrin. Sam finishes with decorations upstairs and strides over to join them on the couch, pulling out his phone after an "oh!" of realization and doing the same with all his contacts, excluding the few. Rachel doesn't have a lot of contacts because she doesn't do this thing often, so she sits patiently, wondering what Quinn could be thinking once she gets a message of her own inviting her to the party. Would she even come?

* * *

**A/N: This begins the first part of four for this short story. Hoping to have it all finished before and maybe just after New Year's. It's going to be hard though, I mean, I have to cover a week and three days in just a couple hours. Wish me luck, my loves!**

**-x**

**p.s. I hope I haven't confused anyone with the changes I did earlier. I'm blonde, I had to change some things around so it got messed up. Oh well.**


	2. Part II: Christmas Party Bash

_**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel — Part II**_

* * *

_December 24__th__, 2012 — 9:14_

* * *

It can't be more than nine in the morning when Rachel bolts upright, screaming, the sound lost in the banging on her door. Once she realizes that the banging is, in fact, just Puck and Sam scaring her awake and then laughing in triumph but not some house-breaking earthquake, Rachel huffs angrily and throws the covers off her body. She stalks around her bed, unlocks the door, and throws it open only have Puck nearly fall through if she didn't catch his weight.

"Puck wanted to," Sam tries explaining, wiping at his eyes, "I couldn't resist."

"Of course you couldn't," she snips, reaching past Puck in her arms to pinch at his chest. Sam only grabs her hand and whirls her from supporting Puck, effectively causing him to fall to the ground. The slight collapse cuts his laughing but only for a second before he cracks out something about Rachel screaming and starts laughing again.

Yanking herself from Sam's hug of apology, Rachel finally breaks into a smile, "I'm going to make breakfast." But not before she takes the handle of her door and attempts to shut it with Puck in the way. He yelps when his fingers get caught under the door and after a few more attempts where the door knocks him in the head, he sits up and lets Rachel close the door.

"Come on, bacon," is all Rachel has to say for the two boys to follow her, still giggling like little kids for waking Rachel up the way they did.

As the bacon is snapping and cracking in the pan, Rachel frowning at the thought of poor slaughtered pigs, Puck fills his mug with black coffee and sits at the table.

"So, Rache," he starts between a drink, "ready for tonight?"

"Will there be smoking?" Rachel asks over her shoulder, flipping a piece of bacon like her daddy taught her.

"Probably. Do you want it outside?"

"Preferably in the back. I want as little of this party going out front because I'd rather have as little attention from the rest of the neighborhood as possible."

"I'll beat up anyone that smokes inside," Sam eagerly offers, filling his mug and putting in some creamer and sugar.

"If it comes to that, then fine," Rachel says, exasperated. She slides the bacon around in the pan.

"Fireworks in the back, too?" Puck asks, tapping his fork on his plate.

Rachel huffs. "Fine."

With the bacon almost finished, she turns off the stove and lifts the pan of scrambled eggs. She brings it over to Puck and scrapes an amount off onto his plate, whereas Sam had already made himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch and is crunching noisily on, only wanting the bacon. Setting the pan of eggs down, Rachel brings another plate over and slides all the pieces of bacon onto the plate. She sets it on the middle of the table for the two to fight over, which they begin promptly amidst little yelps of pain from how hot the grease still is.

Reheating the last of her vegan Chinese meal from yesterday, Rachel looks at the table just as Puck grabs the last piece of bacon and sets it on his plate, wiping his hands on a napkin.

"Got any texts back?" Rachel asks, waiting for the timer on the microwave to alert her of her breakfast.

"Tons," Sam and Puck say in unison. Puck continues, "Don't worry, I didn't invite anyone we don't like but a couple of the football guys did say they would bring some 'mistletoe' over, if you know what I mean."

"Weed?" Rachel says immediately, her throat constricting as the image of police showing up and busting the party because they can smell the weed from down the street enters her head.

"Yeah, that's what you meant by smoking, right?" Sam points out with his spoon, looking a little puzzled. Puck shakes his head. Puck may be a tough guy and may have done some tough stuff back in his day, but his looks and health are much more important to him. He never allowed himself to get addicted to any kind of smoking and regulates his drinking, limiting it to just parties and never any other time. With weed, he gets in trouble enough as it is, he doesn't need the added smoking illegal substances to help him out.

"Okay, well, in that case, I do want you to beat up anybody that smokes in my house," Rachel reiterates, the microwave dinging behind her. She turns to take her plate out, shuts the small door, and joins them at the table.

"Not a problem," Sam assures, turning to his bacon to start chowing down on.

"What are we doing for the rest of the day?" Rachel asks Puck. He finishes his strip of bacon before answering.

"We have to stick around the house. Most times, people stop by ahead of time to drop off stuff for later, like food and drinks. Sometimes they do it even if they can't come because the word still gets around that they pitched in and if you want any kind of rep, you can get one as a supplier. Believe me, it's useful."

"Is that why we didn't get any food ourselves?" Rachel says through a bite of tofu.

Puck nods and puts another chunk of bacon in his mouth, wiping his hand on his soiled napkin.

After breakfast, the three take showers and change into clothes, Rachel just back into her sweats. As soon as she has her t-shirt over her head, Puck knocks and opens the door a little to make sure he isn't intruding and then the rest of the way.

"What are you doing?" he asks, hands gesturing to Rachel's current clothing, "You can't be co-host of a party in that! Come on, Rache, we need something that shows some thigh—"

"Puck, it's just for now," Rachel says, grabbing his arm as he starts for her closet, "Unlike you and Sam, you can lounge around in what you're wearing for the party. I can't sit around all day in a dress."

"Oh, but you need to," Puck smirks, "What about those who are coming by early to drop off food?"

"Why can't you answer the door?"

"Rachel…"

"Fine. But I don't want to look like… a slut."

"I doubt you even own anything that could do that," Puck remarks, stepping up to her closet and swinging open the doors. He browses through the hangers of her dress pieces, humming to himself and pushing aside dresses he deems unworthy after a thought. Rachel slumps onto her bed, watching deadpan, as only yesterday she said Puck is no longer allowed in her room and here is, looking for a dress for her to wear.

"Hey, Rache, can I borrow your dads' shaver?" Sam asks from the doorway, wearing only jeans as he scratches his stubbly chin and holds up the said razor. Rachel's eyes linger on his chest before she shakes herself out of it and remembers she was asked a question.

"Yeah, sure, just be sure to clean up," Rachel waves him away, looking back to see Puck grinning at her mischievously. Once Sam is out of ear-shot, she expects a retort.

"Yep, definitely bisexual," is what comes next, and then a pillow. He laughs and then gasps, stilling his motions in suspense before taking a hanger from the rest. "Rachel Evelyn Berry!"

"Barbara."

"Rachel _Barbara_ Berry!" Puck corrects, holding up a black mini dress, open back, with two straps that wrap up around her neck to hold up the bust, "Where has this been all my life?"

Rachel's hands fly up to cover her face and she speaks between her fingers, "I bought a while ago but I'm too scared to wear it."

"Jesus, put it on, put it on!" Puck says, nearly dancing on the spot. He fumbles with the hanger before finally get the dress off, throwing the article at the girl still on the bed and putting the hanger back.

"What is going on?" Sam asks from the doorway again, half his face shaved, the other still lathered with shaving cream. A bit drops from his chin and lands on his chest, slipping down, and again, Rachel is caught up on his muscles until Puck disrupts the scene and pushes Sam and himself out of the room, slamming the door. With a sigh, Rachel stands and strips down again. Holding the dress before her, she bites her lip against the smile that threatens, and slips the article on, the material tight and stretching over her hips, cupping her ribs, pushing up her breasts. She ties the wraps around her neck and continues blushing even if it is just her looking herself over in the body-length mirror.

"Are you done yet?" Puck calls through the door, hanging on every second until he can see Rachel in the dress.

"One more minute," Rachel replies, just to leave Puck out to dry. She turns and silently gasps at the curve of her ass accentuated through the dress. If she saw this on another girl, she would definitely turn lesbian. Shaking herself out of it, she tries to keep her smile from growing too big and opens the door.

Just outside, Sam is still standing with his dripping shaving cream and Puck's smile turns into a jaw-drop. In unison, they both take a step back, Sam lowering the razor as he takes in the sight of Rachel Berry wearing a form-fitting and appreciative dress.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" Sam blurts out. A loud smack rings in the hallway from Puck slapping him in the chest, splattering dripped shaving cream. Realizing he still needs to finish shaving and to stop staring at Rachel's chest, Sam hurries away.

"Puck, stop that," Rachel demands, tapping under his chin to get his eyes to lift up. After a moment, they tear away to look at her face.

"Maybe you shouldn't wear the dress," he mutters.

"Why?" Rachel asks, looking down and running her hands down the sides.

"Because I'm going to have to kill everyone who looks at you wrong tonight."

"You mean right." Rachel smirks.

"Shut up," Puck says, turning away, "So Sam and I have to run by our houses to check with everything real quick and I have to get my presents. We'll be back in an hour, okay?"

"What if people come by to drop food off?" Rachel asks, suddenly nervous. She starts picking at the hem of her dress, making her realize just how short it is to even be able to do that.

"If they linger, tell them Puckerman will show them what it's like to _pucker up_ to their own teeth," Puck says, quite adamant. After a moment, he softens up and ruffles her hair, just as Sam returns from down the hallway, pulling on a shirt.

"Be back in a little, Rachel," Sam says, letting his eyes roam over her body once real quick before he follows Puck with a sly smile. Rachel sort of curtsies in her doorway, smiling, before she heads back into her room to do make up.

About an hour later and the two haven't shown up. By now, Rachel is just finishing up her hair with a curling iron, getting just the desired effects she wants, when she hears the doorbell ring. For a moment, she wonders why Puck and Sam would be ringing the bell but when she gets to the stairs, she realizes it's someone else here to drop off food. Taking a deep breath and saying a few calming words beneath her breath, she puts a hand on her stomach to stop the nervous flutter and goes downstairs to open the door.

Outside are two looming football players and an unknown girl. Instead of the usual looks she gets from school where it seems like she carries some kind of viral disease no one wants to catch, the girl actually widens her eyes in approval to the dress while the two players, dressed in their jerseys _shockingly_, drop their jaws.

"Raquel?" one player says, mixed background by the looks of it, his eyes on Rachel's chest.

"Rachel," Rachel corrects. She sees the party trays in the two guys' hands and leans forward to take one.

"Here, let me help you with this one," the other player says eagerly, a blonde boy who sort of resembles Sam but with shorter hair and more angled features. He follows Rachel inside with a wink to his pal, carrying the tray into the kitchen.

"So, this is your place?" the player asks as he sets the party tray down on the table. Rachel sets hers on the counter by the sink, turning to see the blonde lift his eyes from where he had been staring at her ass.

"Why, yes it is," she says as politely as she can, "Will you becoming later?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he says, sounding a little zoned out. He suddenly shakes his head at just how corny he sounded and stutters, but before he can say anything else, Rachel is laughing gently and guiding him back to the door.

"See you tonight," Rachel says as a goodbye to the three. All at once they begin their own versions of assuring they'll be at the party when Puck's off-white truck comes rumbling up the drive behind the grey car the others on her step were driving. Pulling around the car so they can get out of the drive, Puck gets out before the truck is even off, leaving Sam to do it.

"Hey, Rachel," Puck says as he walks up the sidewalk, a grimace that should be a smile on his face, "Everything cool?"

"Yeah, they were just dropping some food off for tonight," Rachel beams, leaning against the doorframe.

Stepping up onto the porch, Puck shakes hands with the two football players before looking at the girl and pausing a second, looking her over as if to size her up. After a beat, he winks, and then steps inside, giving their thanks as Sam walks up behind them, carrying Puck's duffel bag and his jacket. He tosses the keys overhead for Puck to catch, steps inside, and shuts the door.

"Did they try anything?" Puck asks, looking Rachel over like she might have injuries.

"Noah, I'm _fine_," Rachel says, swatting away his hands on her shoulders, "Can we just watch some movies until tonight?"

Puck looks at Sam for affirmation, and with a shrug from the blonde, they hang up their jackets, Puck puts away his presents upstairs in Rachel's bedroom, and they clamber onto the couch to watch cheesy Lifetime movies until the evening, snacking on left over Chinese and letting Rachel have a drink of different alcohols to test the waters of what would be her favorite of the night.

* * *

People start to arrive around 9:30, food and beers acting like a ticket for entry as they stream in through the front door. Puck had the decency to add to his texts to car pool or park down the street from the party so the front yard is left as empty as possible, but even so, a couple cars line the curb and Blaine has parked his big SUV next to Puck's truck.

A game of beer pong with three players on each end and a brave amount of mixed drinks in the cups begins, so the occasional cheer sounds from that corner of the room. One of Puck's friends has donated his sound system for the night and after half an hour spent setting it up in front of the TV in the living room, the bass reverberates the house before it's adjusted, and then music that should belong in a strip club gets the coffee table moved out of the way and the space provided becomes the dance floor.

Rachel walks into the kitchen mid-chug of one of the guys from the wrestling team as he does a beer bong. How the little brunette hadn't heard the cheers before she entered the kitchen is beyond her but she watches as the wrestler succeeds and the kitchen roars in celebration. She nears the refrigerator for a drink and a guy opens it for her to hand over a beer. Of all the drinks she's tried that night, in small amounts and between bites of her food so she wouldn't get drunk before the party, Rachel decided she would just stick with beer. It wasn't her favorite but it just felt comfortable to drink and at least, it would soon be gone. With that reassuring thought, another six pack is handed around her and she realizes most of her refrigerator is being filled with them, so maybe she'll have more drink than she cares for.

Just as the guy who handed her beer tries to talk her up, she flashes a practiced smile and steps away.

If Rachel is going to be honest with herself, she is letting this party happen for one person and one person only. Puck had said he was only going to invite a couple more friends but she should have realized when he messaged all his contacts the night before that it is going to be more than she asked for. With all these people shouting and dancing and drinking and just mulling around, it's becoming increasingly hard for Rachel to find a wisp of blonde hair or a dash of hazel eyes. Taking another drink of her beer, she politely declines an offer to dance and heads for her stairs, going against the current of teenagers that come in through the door. Once she reaches the stairs, it's much easier to move, granted, she has to step over a pair violently making out across a step.

Upstairs, she unlocks the door to her room and steps inside. Locking it behind her, she takes a deep breath and sets her drink on her dresser. She wants to do that thing in the movies where she leans against the door and slowly sinks down to the floor for a rest but she came up here for a reason and it wasn't to mope around and wait for the party to end. If she wants to get Quinn's attention tonight, she has to be out socializing and maybe even dancing.

Walking over to her night stand, she picks up her phone. There are a couple texts and she wants to slap herself for not grabbing her phone earlier in the day to see who all had text her after Puck sent out his mass message. She opens her inbox to read an accepted invitation from Kurt and Blaine, Tina asking if Rachel wants any vegan trays to be brought over, and the last one from—

Quinn.

Rachel's breath catches in her throat, and she can actually hear it because upstairs and in her own room, the music isn't quite as loud and there isn't anyone around her to drown her out.

_Do you know Puck is planning a party at your house?_

The message is simple and safe but Rachel feels like it has something more behind it. First off, why would Quinn even check with Rachel, let alone text her at all? Sure they are friends but they have never once texted each other. The only reason they have each other's number at all is because the year of the Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza had Mr. Schuester finding out about his class full of alcoholics. In order to make sure they are all safe if they ever try to get drunk again, he made them sign those contracts as well as put their numbers down for everyone to copy in case they needed to get a hold of each other.

Seeing as it is too late to text any of them, Rachel puts her phone back down and walks back to grab her beer and leave when it buzzes. She can hear it vibrating and she turns to see the screen lit back up. Dancing over, her stomach does a complete nervous flip as Quinn's name stares back at her. Opening the message, there are three simple words.

_Are you here?_

Before Rachel can stop herself, she's typing _The stairs_ and then bounds out of her room, or as much as she can move provided how tight the dress is. She steps out and locks the door again, slipping the key just under the door so she can get it again later once the party is over and she wants some rest.

"Wow, Rachel," someone says behind her. Spinning around, it's just Mike and Tina. Tina is looking over Rachel's legs before meeting her eyes and adding, "Did you get taller?"

"Heels," Rachel replies breathlessly, lifting a leg to show off her hot black heels. Tina makes a noise of appreciation and Rachel looks to Mike to see him staring at her chest. By this point, Rachel has gotten quite use to it. In fact, she got used to it in the first five minutes of the party. She wore this dress for a reason so she might as well come to terms with the attention she is going to receive.

"Michael," Tina scolds, slapping him lightly on the chest, "Rachel's breasts are nice and all but _stop staring_."

"S-sorry," he stutters, looking down to Tina and then bending to give her a kiss. As he does, Rachel notices the hickey under his jaw and snickers.

"Where were you two?" she asks, prodding the hickey with a finger and making him wince at the pressure.

Tina's face colors and Rachel laughs with all the explanation she needs from her. She bids them a goodnight, punches Mike lightly in the arm to grab his attention away from her again, and nearly skips down the stairs, having to step over the couple that still hasn't moved.

Hoping to see Quinn, Rachel visibly deflates when it becomes obvious she isn't where she texted her. Taking another drink from her beer, she nearly spits it out when an elbow crashes into her hand and knocks the bottle from her. She just barely manages to step back from the little bit that has fallen out so it won't land on her dress. A football player in front of her looks at her apologetically; holding a football that is the reason his elbow clipped her drink. Sighing and stepping past the boy back into the kitchen, she is handed another drink and passes further in until she's leaning in the corner of the stove and counter, watching as teens dare each other to be the next to do the beer pong. Rachel laughs when one slips on a bit of fallen beer and a little girl has to catch him, only to have the view suddenly blocked by none other than Santana Lopez.

"Hey, little Berry," the Latina slurs, obviously already working up a killer buzz. She sets her Jack and Coke down behind Rachel on the counter and leans in, drawing a finger down Rachel's bare collar bone and hooking on the front of her dress, pulling at the material. "Gotta give ya props for the dress and party tonight, Rachel. You look pretty fine."

"Thank you, Santana," Rachel says as she pries the girl's finger away from her dress, "Have you had anything to drink yet?"

"Oh, sarcastic," Santana says, scrunching her nose in play instead of distaste, which would be typical of her, "With how tight that dress is, I could be doing the same things I could be doing if you were naked—"

"Hello, Santana."

Rachel looks up just have to her breath caught as Quinn slides an arm between them and motions for Santana to back up a step or two. She flashes a half smile at Rachel in greeting before pulling the drunken Latina the appropriate distance away and adding, "You should really be with Brittany, why don't you go find her?"

Instead of getting angry, like one would expect the hotheaded Cheerio to, her eyes water. She grabs her drink from behind Rachel, causing her to jump because for a second she thought she was going to be hit. Santana starts saying stuff in jumbled Spanish and runs away but just before she leaves the kitchen, she yells, "She jus' looked so damn good in that _dress_!"

Sighing, Quinn turns back to Rachel and smiles properly. "Hi, Rachel. How are you?"

"I'm great," Rachel says, returning the smile. She looks down at her beer she still has in her hand and though she has done this multiple times before she can't pop the top off. Quinn takes it lightly from her, but instead of using her hands to take the cap off, she lifts the bottle to her mouth and uses her canine tooth to push down on the middle of the metal and pop off the side with a crack from the pressure.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Rachel asks incredulously as Quinn hands back the drink with a smile.

"Santana, of course," Quinn says, "Come with me to get a drink?"

Rachel nods and follows the tall blonde out of the kitchen to the makeshift bar near the beer pong table. Another game has already started and Sam is up to toss the ball. After a moment of careful aiming, he arcs the ball through the air and it lands perfectly in the opponent's drink with a boisterous cheer from his team. The two girls move past the table to find Puck working the drinks like an actual bartender.

"Hey, Rache!" Puck greets. He pours a drink for a girl down the way and slides it to her with a wink. "I was just going to come look for you. Enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, actually," Rachel smiles. She points her beer at Quinn, "Quinn here would like a drink."

"Hey, my baby mama," Puck greets, receiving an eyebrow raise of skepticism, "What would you like?"

"Cranberry and vodka," she says, knocking her knuckles lightly on the small wooden bar. It's really a couple vanities dragged from different parts of the living room in front of the big mirror where beneath, there is Rachel's fathers' knitting and crafting desks. Atop it is most of the alcohol for Puck to serve. He clicks his tongue and turns to grab a Solo cup and jug of Cranberry juice from a cooler of ice.

"So you _did_ know Puck was planning this?" Quinn asks, facing Rachel with an easy smile. In this part of the house where there is less people crowding them, Rachel can see that Quinn is one of the few girls who showed up in something more appropriate than most of the girls that is dressed like Rachel. She sports a little white cardigan over a white and pink candy striped dress that ends just above her knees, wearing her beloved vintage styled Anthropologie wedges. Even dressed as she is, Rachel can't help but think she is one of the sexiest women at this party and it makes her heart race a little faster. Knowing that Puck is standing right there, Rachel smiles and takes a drink before answering.

"I did, actually," she says while Puck slides Quinn's drink to her, "He came over the morning my dads left for their holiday cruise."

"Oh, when did they leave?" Quinn asks, taking a straw from the counter top and sipping her drink.

"Yesterday," Rachel punctuates with another drink.

"So, Rache," Puck speaks up, now that he doesn't have anyone else to tend to, "Have any trouble tonight? Anyone in particular I need to reverse teeth on?"

Rachel laughs and shakes her head, "Just the usual, Noah. I'm fine, I told you. Just keep the smoking out of my house… and get yourself a drink. You're usually not this uptight."

"It's early," he says, plucking Quinn's drink from her hands to her displeasure, and taking a drink, "I still have a couple hours before the Puckasaurus gets loose."

"Oh wow," Quinn mutters under her breath, taking her drink back, "Come on, Rachel, let's find Santana and _hopefully_ Brittany."

Puck winks as Quinn loops an arm with Rachel and they head off through the bustle to search for said girls. They only get past the beer pong table before two football players step up to ask for a dance, coy smiles on their lips. Rachel looks at Quinn questioningly, not wanting to leave her, or worse, have Quinn leave, but Quinn politely declines and shoulders past, moving through to the living room/dance floor. Standing up on her toes, her hand just resting on the crook of Rachel's arm, she tries to search the sea of grinding and gyrating bodies for the Latina and blonde. During this, it gives Rachel a chance to wonder just why Quinn wants to stay by her side, why she is being nicer than usual, more friendly and talkative, and above all else, all this with _her_. Sure, Rachel knows they're friends but never thought they were the kind to share drinks and stick together at a party.

"I can't see her in there," Quinn reports after a minute, sighing and taking a drink from her cup. She reaffirms her hold around Rachel's arm and guides them down the hallway towards the bathroom and closet. The closet is already locked with most of the things Puck had stored away earlier, and after maneuvering Quinn away, they knock on the bathroom door. Miraculously, it's empty, and on a second thought, Quinn pulls them inside.

Locking the door behind them, Quinn turns to the mirror and checks herself, running her fingers through her blonde hair.

"Why are you hanging out with me tonight?" Rachel blurts out lamely before she can stop herself. To cover up, she takes another drink of her beer she still holds, like the factor of having alcohol is also to blame the poor question.

Quinn turns from the sink to place her hands back on and lean against. She looks at the floor and her wedges that she sort of tilts onto the sides, like a nervous habit.

"To be honest?" Quinn starts, looking up, her hazel eyes shining, "I thought you would be the most trustworthy person to be with tonight."

"Why's that?" Rachel asks, crossing her arms over her chest with her beer tucked in one crook of her arm.

"The first real time I got drunk, I also got pregnant," Quinn nods, her lips tightening at the sour memory, "The second time was at your last party with just the Glee kids and I got to watch Santana make out with Sam when I knew she was doing it to rub it into my face… I also lost my bra—"

"That was yours?" Rachel cuts in. After a moment, she bursts out laughing, taking a drink to stop herself so Quinn could continue. When she looks up, Quinn is blushing and biting on her lip to keep her smile from becoming too big. She nods, closes her eyes, and takes a breath.

"Tonight, I don't know… I just," and she halts, opening her eyes to see Rachel, "I just wanted to spend it… with you. As weird it sounds and all, I mean our history hasn't been the best and I can't imagine I'm always a joy—"

"You're rambling," Rachel interrupts once more, smiling, "I'm supposed to do that."

"I do that when I don't have much else to say," Quinn admits, shrugging a shoulder, "And I'm nowhere near drunk to start being angry yet, which is another reason I wanted to spend the evening with you; I know you won't drink a lot so as long I'm with you, I should be okay."

"I don't know," Rachel says, lifting her current beer to take a swig, "I've already had a couple beers today. I just have a little bit of food in me."

"Well," Quinn says, smiling and grabbing her drink from where it sat on the sink, "Let's catch me up then."

"Are we still looking for Santana?" Rachel asks, moving to the door.

"No, I think she'll be okay after all," Quinn waves off, taking a drink from her straw and following the little brunette through the door, "By the way, you have a really nice dress on… looks good."

"Thank you," Rachel says without showing her face, more so that the blonde doesn't see her blush creeping up on her cheeks.

With the crowd pushing in on their sides, Rachel nearly jumps when she feels fingers lace through hers on her free hand, only to look back and see Quinn has abandoned her straw and is holding onto Rachel's hand as she tilts the cup back and downs its contents. Rachel chuckles and leads the both of them back to the makeshift bar, where Sam now mans the drinks a bit dopily.

"'Ey, Rache!" He greets as she steps up to the counter. He gives her a lopsided smile and continues, "Want anything to drink?"

"How about a Jack and Coke?" Rachel asks, "I liked that one, right?"

"You would," Quinn confirms as she sets her empty Solo cup on the bar top, "And get me another cranberry and vodka, please."

Sam nods and gets to work fulfilling the orders. As he's filling Quinn's cup, there's a violent shout unlike the rest of the night and then it gets a little quiet near the back of the house, where Rachel's sliding doors lead out into the backyard. It grabs her attention and Rachel tries to see over the mass of people for the commotion. Finding it useless, she begins elbowing through the crowd. The only thing on her mind now is Puck in a fight but even as she's dodging through the crowd, she can feel someone close behind her, moving just as fast. She breaks the ranks and steps outside of her house and a ring of people into a brawl between two guys, one of which is Puck.

"Noah!" Rachel shouts, taking a step forward to make her voice heard. The other guy's foot kicks out and an arm wraps around Rachel's waist to pull her back and out of the way. Looking behind her, Quinn has her and is looking past her with concern written in her features as Puck wrestles the guy to the floor. Facing the fight, Rachel watches helplessly until Puck serves one straight to the gut and gets the chance to turn the tables, rolling the pair of them until he's straddling his opponent. Right before he can swing for an open head, Rachel tears out Quinn's arm and comes to his side, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

"Noah!" Rachel shouts again. Puck looks up and after a moment, the hard glint to his eyes softens and he drops his fist. He's sporting a busted lip but the guy below him is bleeding from the nose. "It's Christmas Eve! We should all be having a good time! You proved you could kick his ass, now get him into a car to go home!"

"I'll take him home," Mike says, stepping from the crowd of bystanders. He helps Noah off and then assists the bleeding guy to his feet. Taking his keys from his pocket, Mike slings the guy's arm over his shoulders and pats Rachel on the shoulder, whispering that he's fine to drive. Rachel nods and watches the two of them go to the gate of her fence and out around the side of the house.

"Alright!" Puck yells to the ring of bystanders, licking the blood from his lip, "Let's get back to partying!"

A cheer rises from the crowd and Puck is handed a celebratory beer. He cracks open the top, takes a generous drink, and pulls Rachel into a bear hug with his other arm, kissing her on the forehead.

"Jesus, Puck," Rachel mutters as she's set down and has to adjust the hem of her dress. Needing a drink, she pats him on his broad chest and turns to head back inside and out of the smoke that has started rising again from the cigarettes or what else she doesn't want to think about.

"You okay?" Quinn asks, at her side once more. As a couple threaten to walk between them, Quinn snakes an arm around Rachel's waist and keeps them close, walking past the dancing bodies and towards the makeshift bar.

"Yes," Rachel sighs, the bar back in sight and her spirits lifting, not to mention Quinn's arm is still around her waist and she rather likes it there, "I just need my drink."

At the bar, Sam asks details on the fight and Quinn relays them to him as Rachel tries her drink and then chugs it. It's different than what she has grown accustomed to, the beer, but she likes it and the cup is half empty already.

"Yo!" And none other than Blaine Anderson is slinging an arm around Rachel's shoulders. He looks over her and her dress and makes a noise of appreciation, clearly drunk. Whereas a straight girl's sexuality blurs into bisexuality when drunk, Blaine's perception must blur from gay to bisexual, and Rachel in her dress is obviously what he likes to see. "How about some shots with me and Kurt in the kitchen?"

"Kurt?" Rachel laughs, "I doubt he would do shots."

"He did! He is!" Blaine says, gesturing for the kitchen, "We need someone to go against in a race to finish five in a row."

"I'll do it," Quinn chimes in, stepping up close behind Rachel. Out of nowhere, Rachel feels a lance of heat shoot to the bottom of her stomach at just how close Quinn is and she has to resist moaning at just how nice it felt. The idea of doing shots when she's already had a little to drink and she has to hold back a moan from Quinn standing close behind her is a bad one. But for some reason, she starts nodding instead of shaking, and then laughing because both Blaine and Quinn are cheering.

Following their friend into the kitchen, Kurt is lining up shot glasses. There are way too many and where they came from, Rachel isn't quite sure, but she isn't asking questions and watches Kurt sloppily pour a line of vodka across. Once another row is added for Quinn and four rows of five are set on opposite sides of the table, Rachel steps up to hers. She feels a little panicky, never having done shots before, but if Quinn, let alone _Kurt_, can do them, she doesn't see why she can't. As a girl holding her phone prepares to time them and another prepares to check who gets what place, Rachel's hands start shaking. From three, they start counting down and then she hears "go!" and it's second nature how she hurries to pick up the first glass, down it, then the second, and third, and fourth, and fifth, and just before she finishes the last, someone has already placed, but then she must be second because the cheers get louder and someone smacks her on the ass.

"Damn, Rachel!" Kurt squeaks out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I was first but you got _second_!"

"I thought I was good!" Quinn states, laughing and leaning back against a wall.

"I need more practice," Blaine mutters. Grabbing one of shot glasses, he pours another and downs it, more out of being upset for placing last than actual practice.

"Well, that was fun," Quinn says, rounding the table. She wraps her arm back around Rachel's and with a goodbye to the boys, brings them back out into the living room. Rachel can see Quinn eyeing the dance floor, and with the new alcohol pulsing through her system as well as the image of grinding against Quinn entering her head, Rachel smirks and nudges the blonde's side.

"Want to dance?"

"Maybe when it gets a little darker," Quinn says, looking down at Rachel with a little glaze to her eyes, "I like dancing in the dark."

"What time is it?" Rachel asks, looking around for a clock. Quinn pulls her cell phone from a pocket in her dress.

"11:30," she answers, putting her phone away but missing the pocket at first, "Want to sit for a little bit?"

"Want to dance when it's Christmas?" Rachel asks, biting on the inside of her cheek.

"I would love to," Quinn replies, laughing and bringing them around the outside of the ever moving bodies and to a couch where they can sit. Not even a minute in to relaxing on the couch and Santana and Brittany stride up, both wearing some hot dresses of their own and Santana holding a beer.

"Hi," Brittany greets as Santana takes a pull, "Mind if we sit?"

"Not at all," Quinn assures. Brittany sits on Quinn's side and immediately begins talking. Instead of joining her girlfriend, Santana drops down beside Rachel.

"Hey, there," the drunk Latina drawls. She lifts her hand to stroke it down Rachel's bare arm, reaching her hand and twining their fingers together. Rachel finds it somewhat hilarious and just experiences, smelling the strong scent of alcohol on the other's breath. "How come we have never hooked up?"

"Maybe because you have a girlfriend," Quinn interjects, an arm moving around Rachel's neck to push Santana back from her gradual lean as though she aims to kiss Rachel. At the push, Quinn pulls Rachel to her side, her arm sliding down to wrap around Rachel's ribs instead, and the action is almost protective. It makes Rachel insides twist and her mind foggy… or maybe that's the alcohol. Either way, she smiling like a little girl who just got candy until Santana starts breaking into tears again.

"Brittany, do your thing," Rachel hears Quinn instruct behind her. There's movement from the couch and then Brittany is stepping around them, an absent smile on her face like none of this is fazing her, and she steps up to Santana to straddle her. Just as Brittany is pulling down the zip of her dress, Santana calms and drinks from her beer, ignoring the taunts as Brittany shimmies the dress overhead, her hips moving slowly on her girlfriend's beneath her. The sight, even though it doesn't include people she is attracted to… a lot, has Rachel feeling even more light-headed and what she guesses as being actually turned on. With Quinn's arm around her, she's slightly afraid the blonde can feel her skin heating up or her heart thumping in her chest, but she really can't be bothered as she watches Brittany's languid hips move, Santana's hand covering a hip to help move.

"I think we should dance now," Quinn's voice is whispering in Rachel's ear and there is no warning for the shiver she receives. Hoping it doesn't sway the girl from dancing, Rachel pretends she didn't just have a small orgasm at the sound of Quinn's hot voice in her ear. She can't blame herself; she just watched two girls grind half naked against each other and then Quinn is murmuring to her, her hot breath washing down her neck. Her mouth is suddenly dry and Rachel plucks a drink from a guy as he passes, takes a drink, and then hands it back with a laugh from Quinn. A hand grabs her and she follows the taller girl into the tight-knit ocean of dancers, the lights dimming the deeper they go when somebody actually turns off the overhead lights. Quite suddenly, flashing, multi-colored lights start and it seems like the guy who brought the sound system has also set up the light show, laser pointers flitting about, a strobe light making everyone appear to dance in a strange, disoriented way. Rachel looks at the faceless people about them, the lights gleaming off their skin and jewelry, the smell of alcohol and sweat permeating the air. The hand in hers pulls her and then she's looking up into hazel, Quinn flush against her front, a hand on her lower back, just above the swell of her ass in her dress, the other holding hers up. Rachel tries to fixate her expression into something other than surprise and instead, looks down at their bodies moving against each other. She realizes that her hips are swaying, grinding against Quinn's, who mirrors her movements perfectly, and she isn't even trying to dance, her body just taking over and matching the rhythm of the club music. The hand in hers drifts down her arm until it reaches her shoulder blade, and then nails drag lazily across to her spine, earning another shiver. At this point, Rachel is starting to think Quinn is attempting to make these shivers happen, and when she looks up at Quinn, the girl is watching her intensely, her hazel eyes now a dark emerald and burning into hers. There's nothing more Rachel wants to do than to close the space between their lips and kiss this girl in front of her, the one she has those confusing feelings for, the one that she doesn't understand their strange friendship, the one she is beginning to think has feelings for her with all the signs tonight.

The music changes paces, and with it, Quinn's hands find Rachel's hips and turn her slowly. Quinn's body is then against her back, her breasts against her shoulders, those slender fingers still on her waist, her ass pressed against Quinn's lower parts. Rachel bites her lip as Quinn's mouth ghosts over her neck, her breath wafting down her collarbone. The pulsing of the music, the alcohol coursing her veins, the smell of sweat and the heat rising inside her, it's all so much, and then Quinn whispers.

"It's 12:00— Merry Christmas, Rachel."

Maybe it was Rachel, maybe it was Quinn, or maybe it was the both of them, but Rachel is turning back around slowly, her arms rising to wrap around Quinn's neck as the blonde's do the same around a small waist. It's like in those movies when the slow-motion scene plays out, except someone has done that to real life and either Quinn is bending down or Rachel is leaning up, but somewhere in between, their lips meet and their kissing. Their bodies are right together, their arms tight in their positions, and Quinn tastes like cranberry juice, bitter but so delectable that Rachel wants more and she tilts her head. Even if she wanted to stop, there is no way her mind or her body would let her, and Quinn isn't finding regret in their decision, her arms unwinding just so she can have a hand hold her waist with a vice and the other smooth up her spine, pushing their fronts together. Then abruptly, they break.

"Want to go to your bedroom?" Quinn asks, her voice floating in Rachel's head. Rachel thinks she nods, and if she didn't, she still grabs Quinn's hand and tries to stumble out of the dance crowd. It takes longer than it should, but they're clear and making a bee-line the best they can in their states. They reach the stairs and step past trash and empty beer bottles, almost gliding up and down the hallway, ignoring the couple practically dry-humping each other against a wall. Rachel bends, nearly falling forward, to swipe her fingers beneath her door until they hit a metal key and she takes it. She tries to place it in the key hole but Quinn has to do it, and even she takes a few tries before it enters and they can unlock the door.

Inside, Rachel doesn't even think as she shuts and locks the door. She doesn't think if it's the right thing to do. She doesn't think about what they might do. All she does is turn around and find Quinn waiting for her, pulling her, pressing their bodies together, their mouths together, and there's that overwhelming taste of cranberry juice and alcohol again but she wants more. Her tongue seems a little numb but she can guess that feeling of gliding as moving against Quinn's tongue. Something hard hits the back of the knees and they buckle, Rachel falling back only onto her bed with Quinn following, their mouths never parting, hungry for the taste they find on each other's tongue. Rachel can feel a hand jerking at the ties of her dress, the other tugging on her hip, trying to remove the article, but she doesn't register that she should help. Instead, she's pushing material off of Quinn's shoulders, finding creamy skin and suddenly needing to bite it. She breaks away to lift her head and sink her teeth in, hearing Quinn moan, the dress sliding suddenly, feeling it around her legs where it shouldn't be, and then not at all. She's moving up her bed, her hands digging under covers until somehow, it passes over the pair of them. A little metal object like her key is on Quinn's back and it takes Rachel a moment to process it's a zipper, and then she's pulling it down, feeling smooth flesh beneath her fingertips, and then goosebumps. The dress slips and Rachel is piercing skin on Quinn's hip with her nails. She can't hear the music from downstairs, only hers and Quinn's breathing, too loud in her head, or maybe it's a rush of blood, or her heart that also seems to be lodged in her throat. Needing more sweet skin, Rachel drags her teeth up a taut neck, biting, sucking, kissing until she reaches a quivering jaw. She kisses her way back up to Quinn's mouth, biting on her lip. Her hands are moving but she can't quite place them, knowing that she just feels hot, slick skin, Quinn hovering over her, the beat of her heart tangible through her chest and on Rachel's. There is one thing that becomes quite apparent to Rachel and it's that she is so desperate for Quinn. A fire is burning in her stomach and she needs to be touched, to release the knot tightening inside her. She groans out the sweet agony, Quinn biting down hard enough to break through the dense clouds in her head. Like they are communicating through physical touches instead of verbal instruction a little of her head is cleared enough to know that Quinn's hand is trailing down her flexing stomach, inching closer and closer until it's like part of the reel of a film has skipped and Rachel's arching up, moaning out and hopefully not too loud, fingers, unsure of how many, are deep inside her, and instead of quenching the fire, they only serve to create an inferno, consuming Rachel. She cries out, nails scratching Quinn's back for some kind of purchase against the lust and desire roiling in her chest, escaping through her mouth in bursts of moans and shrieks. A warm sensation slides up her chest and in the haze of sight, Rachel can see hazel, pupils blown, and a mouth, tongue laving up in the valley of her breasts, oddly cooler against the onslaught of heat from her body. Rachel isn't sure how much of this she can last, it's all so powerful and mind-blowing, despite there not being much of a mind left to blow. It seems to take longer, a year maybe, before finally, the fire is drowned with a whole new feeling, one that leaves Rachel screaming and then breathless, bringing her from dark to light, from intensity to bliss. She can feel a mouth on hers, kissing, and with each press, her world sinks a little, and more, and then—

* * *

It's a combination of the light and the sound of a horn beeping twice that gets Rachel to rouse from her deep sleep. She wishes she didn't. Immediately, she is met with a headache that roots itself behind her eyes, and as she tries to open her mouth, her tongue is unresponsive, dry and leaden. She wants to move but her limbs just lie lifeless. She only barely cracks her eyes and they start watering at the soft sunlight.

Worst hangover ever.

It takes ten whole minutes before Rachel gets the energy to move her arm. She uses that strength to bring her hand to her eyes, shielding them from the light she deems too harsh. With that little victory, she has more strength and she actually gets to sitting up when she feels a slight movement in bed next to her. Her eyes widen despite the burning and she feels a scream for Puck rising in her throat, but just before she does that, she decides she needs to see for herself who just that person beneath her covers are, why there are in bed with her, and what the hell happened last night.

Rachel's lifting the covers just as Quinn is rolling to see who is sitting up behind her, and the moment their bleary eyes connect, they suddenly both remember _most_ of last night.

"Oh, _shit_!" Rachel lets out in surprise instead of her scream. Turning away, embarrassment flooding her cheeks, she yanks the sheet of the bed away and manages to stand, though her whole world is a bit off kilter. She knows Quinn is up and moving as well, she can hear her moving on the other side of the bed, and at the same moment, they turn to face each other. Quinn is standing with her hands on the edge of the bed to keep from falling over because not only did they stand fast and there is always that accompanying head rush, but Rachel can see on her face that the headache is making itself known. What doesn't help is that they just woke up together, in the same bed, and—

They had sex.

"No we didn't," Quinn murmurs, looking at the bed with her bloodshot eyes.

"We didn't," Rachel says, nodding but then stopping because nodding is a bad idea.

"Oh my God, we did," Quinn backtracks, lifting a hand to clap over her mouth.

Rachel says nothing because even if she had been really drunk last night, the affects hitting her somewhere during their dance and it being Christmas, she still remembers the details that matter and those were the ones that follow her all the way up to her mouth on places of Quinn she's only dreamt about. There is no way that was a dream… it is all too real and vivid. She can taste it…

"Look, Quinn," Rachel starts, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to alleviate the throb in her head, "We just need— are those my clothes?"

When opens her eyes, her sentence is cut off and lost when she sees her tiny gym shorts and a t-shirt she won for running a 5k for autism on Quinn. That isn't part of the dream. They were… naked. Looking down, she recognizes her own clothing as well and tries to think back at what point they both got up to get dressed.

Quinn stutters as she pulls at the front of the t-shirt, trying herself to remember. The one thing that is apparent to the both of them is the fact they had sex last night, but it also seems they both thought they just went to sleep afterwards. What else did they do?

Licking her dry lips to no real avail, Rachel swivels around. Her heart hammers in her chest, her fingers starting to shake again, and she blinks against the stinging of her eyes as she nears her door. She prays that when she twists the knob, the door will still be locked.

It isn't.

"I locked the door last night," Rachel cracks out, saying it more to affirm the memory of turning the key to herself.

"You did," Quinn agrees, sounding muffled. Behind Rachel and still by the bed, Quinn has her hands covering her face. "I remember watching you before I… grabbed you."

Though it is completely inappropriate and not at all related to the problem they face now, Rachel has to swallow back a noise and a shiver. By Quinn's words, it's like the memory is presented to her and she relives turning around and having Quinn grab at her, pulling her close, her breath hot and her mouth everywhere, searing against her own.

Shaking her head, Rachel opens the door with a deep sigh. Taking a single step outside, she is met with a cold draft and the wasteland of a party. Trash, bits of clothes, bottles, Solo cups, and decorations either litter the floor or hang off the walls. Looking down the hallway towards her parents' bedroom, there's even a bra hanging from one of the lights, the light cover askew. Yesterday, Rachel wondered what smells and noises she would wake up to, and all of the possibilities were awful. Now that it has actually happened, the only thing Rachel can smell is just _cold weather_, and the only noise is a little crackling like a speaker had blown last night… which is a very real probability.

Behind her, Quinn is leaning against the end post of Rachel's bed, rubbing her eye with a fist. Her blonde hair, so nice and pretty last night, is messy and ruffled, her clothes too small, her makeup gone, and Rachel has to admit this is the best she has ever seen Quinn. Biting back some comment about their state of attire and appearance, Rachel has to remember that she may be the only one of the two of them that reciprocates feelings. Maybe it was just a drunken mistake to Quinn where it actually meant something to Rachel. She feels a little pang of hurt at the thought and finally finds something neutral to say.

"Let's just go downstairs and I'll make some breakfast," Rachel coaxes, her voice returning each time she uses it.

Quinn looks up, her brows furrowed. Rachel suspects she might just get some of the treatment she used to from Cheerio Quinn, just by the look on the girl's face, but it goes to show how little she truly knows about Quinn yet because all she says is, "Do you have bacon?"

Rachel chuckles exasperatedly, "Yes, I do. _Real_ bacon."

A smile upturns Quinn's pink lips and she moves to the door. She places a hand on Rachel's shoulder, sending a jolt to the little girl's chest, and the two of them move quietly out of the room and down the stairs, maneuvering through the debris.

The kitchen is even worse. The table holds half of the shot glasses they saw last night so Rachel can assume most of the glasses were just brought over by their owners. Two empty bottles of vodka sit amidst the rounds, and Quinn scoffs, rubbing the butt of her palm in her eye again and obviously remembering their own rounds. Rachel wonders if it was around that time that things started going downhill for them… or uphill, however you want to look at it.

Stepping over to the stove, Rachel finds a clean pan from the overhead cupboards and pushes away candy wrappers and a Red Bull can from the burner. She starts the pan just as Quinn steps up with the package of bacon from the refrigerator, setting it down beside her with a small smile. Once the pan has heated up enough, Rachel takes a couple strips of bacon out and throws them on the skillet, the bacon already beginning to pop and sizzle.

"So do you hate me?" Rachel drops. She mentally kicks herself. That thought was supposed to stay in her head and not become an actual question, but the damage is done and she hopes she sounded innocent or even upset enough to pull it off.

"Of course not," is Quinn's reply and it startles Rachel. She looks over her shoulder at the blonde sitting at the table. She is further surprised by those hazel eyes watching her cook, the girl's chin resting on her forearms crossed over the back of her chair. The look Rachel wears must be a good one because Quinn chuckles and adds, "It was both of us that took part in the mistake last night."

"Right," Rachel says, her spirits deflating like a popped balloon. Mistake.

_It wasn't a mistake to me._

They spend the rest of the time cooking bacon in relative silence and once Rachel reckons enough has been prepared, she finds a clean plate and slides all the pieces off. She brings the plate to the table and sets it in front of Quinn and then moves to the fridge to find herself something to eat.

"I thought I smelled bacon," Puck says out of the blue as he enters the kitchen in just a pair of jeans. Rachel pulls out a little Tupperware of vegetables and rolls her eyes at Puck while he sits at the table, snatching a piece of Quinn's bacon and rewarding himself with a smack.

"Good morning, Noah," Rachel greets dryly, moving back to the stove and taking out a smaller pan to use, moving the bacon grease one to the side. She catches a whiff as she does and nearly hurls. "How did your night go?"

"Epic," he replies nonchalantly, "So… my baby mama and my little Jew. Quite the show you two put on last night."

"What?" the two girls say in unison, dropping what they were doing and facing Puck. He only smirks and leans back in his chair, putting his hands in his pockets. Rachel has half a mind of throwing her spatula at his half bald head and from the looks Quinn's sending, she wants to leap across the table and strangle that smirk off his face. After a minute, Puck breaks into a chuckle and leans forward, taking his phone from his pocket.

"So you two really don't remember last night?" he asks, delighted. When he receives nothing, he shrugs a shoulder and begins, "Well, it began when you two disappeared for about an hour and a half, maybe two hours. Sam and I couldn't find you and the last anyone saw, you guys were with Santana and Brittany. Then you two hit the dance floor and were gone. But when we started doing fireworks in the backyard, it was like a dinner bell and you guys show up… in _this_."

Rachel abandons the stove to kneel beside Quinn as the blonde snatches the phone from his hand. On his screen, a video starts and noise immediately blares from the speakers, the girls wincing in agony.

In the video, Puck is filming a fountain and some Roman candles shooting into the sky when hollers erupt and the camera swivels back towards the house. The crowd parts as two girls, a blonde and a little brunette, come running out in mix-matched lace underwear, screaming and squealing in elation. The blonde, Quinn no less, runs in front and makes for the fireworks without a bit of hesitance. Out of frame, Sam darts forward and manages to just barely grab Quinn before she runs through the fireworks. She starts shouting at Sam, suddenly angry and pushing on his chest with one hand. She gestures with her other hand and they recognize her dress from earlier. Where she stands, she begins whipping it around her head, doing a chant of some sort that obviously encourages the brunette, Rachel. She appears and before Sam can catch her, she kneels by one of the Roman candles and picks it up, pointing it at the throng of spectators, causing them to disperse with shrieks for her to put it down. Rachel starts laughing obnoxiously, pointing the candle at the sky in the last second as it spouts off another and last round. Throwing the cardboard firework to the side, Quinn slings her dress somewhere off camera and then grabs Rachel, pulling her into a kiss, and the video ends.

"I had to bring you guys inside after the video," Puck says, retaining giggles and taking back his phone, "I brought you guys upstairs and since Quinn lost her dress and I couldn't find Rachel's either, I had to put you guys in something. I got you in bed and you guys were out like a light, but not after Quinn cuddled up against Rachel and held on for dear life. It was quite adorable."

"Oh my God," Quinn says quietly, leaning back in her chair, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

Beside her, Rachel slumps to the floor, her own version of the video playing in her head. So there is the missing part of the night, at which point they lost their clothes and Puck dressed them in this, putting them to bed. They actually ran outside, half-naked, and Rachel could have seriously hurt someone.

"Where's my dress?" Quinn demands, sounding alert again. Before Puck can answer, an angry lilt comes to her voice and she repeats, "Puck, where the _hell_ is my dress?"

"Chill!" Puck advises, putting his hands out against Quinn in the chance she does leap across the table, "You're not going to like this but—"

Instead of saying it, Puck just stands and motions for the two of them to follow. Quinn gets up and turns to Rachel, holding out a hand for her to get up. No longer thinking about little subtext meanings here and there, Rachel takes her hand and stands up, feeling a little numb in the hips. Last night was _wild_.

They follow Puck all the way to Rachel's open sliding doors, the cause for the house being so cold. Outside, there is less trash and drinks, but enough for it to be evident there was a party. If it looks this bad outside, Rachel has to keep herself from panicking at just how bad inside _really_ is. Puck continues across the back yard lawn, kicking a beer bottle and some used fireworks to the side. He stops in front of Rachel's fathers' gardening shed and waits for the girls to catch up.

"So? Where is it?" Quinn asks, crossing her arms against the cold morning air.

Puck lifts his hand and points. Their heads tilt back until they're looking at the top of the gardening shed, where Quinn's dress is fluttering in the breeze, hooked on the weather vane.

"Fuck!" Quinn swears, surprising both Rachel and Puck, "I need my dress! There is no way I can go home without it."

"Alright, alright, alright," Puck says, waving his hands, "I can get it. Just go back inside and make some more bacon. Besides, Rachel hasn't eaten yet."

Rachel flashes a fake smile, not moving as Puck circles the shed, looking for somewhere to begin. Not finding a particular spot, he shrugs and jumps, his hands catching the edge of the roof just barely. Her fathers take gardening seriously and one could find just about anything they need inside that big shed. Rachel shakes her head and leaves, Quinn following close behind. They walk back into the house, Rachel sliding the doors shut so the heat will stay inside, and move towards the kitchen, where Rachel promptly puts both pans on the stove and prepares both her vegetables and more bacon. Her mood is quite sour right now, her head hurts, her eyes are probably just as blood shot as Quinn's, and there is a video, maybe multiple, of her and Quinn acting like idiots at the biggest party she has ever even been to.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks softly from the table, nibbling on a bit of bacon.

Rachel shrugs a shoulder without looking at the blonde.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says after a beat, "about last night."

"I'm not," Rachel states, no room to sugarcoat things anymore. Part of her really liked being able to let loose and not always act so straight-laced. That same part of her really liked that she was finally able to kiss the girl she's had strange, unaccounted feelings for. But the sane part of her told her that last night is going to be a big problem now and Puck better shape up or she's going to rip his Mohawk from his head like a wax strip.

"Neither am I."

The spatula slips in the pan stirring her vegetables, throwing a bit of broccoli out. Rachel peers over her shoulder slowly, a confused expression to her. Sitting backwards in the chair, Quinn is watching Rachel again with a sober face, her eyes shining like they did last night in the bathroom.

"You know how people say when you get drunk, your real feelings show?" Quinn asks timidly, her fingers curling around the spindles on the back of the chair. Rachel nods. Quinn nods slowly as well, closes her eyes, and takes a breath like what she is about to say next is going to expend a lot of energy.

"I have a lot of… feelings for you, Rachel."

They aren't quite sure how long they stay in their positions until Rachel is dropping her spatula and is on her knees in front of Quinn, taking her face in her hands and pulling her down to her lips. Even after last night, it feels like their first kiss, so new and invigorating. Quinn's tongue is sliding against her bottom lip, no taste of cranberry or vodka or even the bacon she has been barely eating. Hands tangle themselves in dark hair, pulling her impossibly closer, her own hands moving around Quinn's neck—

"My _baby mama_ and my _little Jew_!" Puck practically squeals.

Rachel and Quinn break apart like they have been shot. Quinn rocks back in her chair while Rachel stands, flinching at the wooziness and she has to set a hand on the counter.

Puck waves Quinn's dress at them both, scoffing, "Like I don't already know what you two did for two hours last night. C'mon. I'm Puckzilla. I have a sex radar, I can tell you how many people banged here last night—"

"Noah!" Rachel snaps, clipping his sentence. She really doesn't want to know how many people had sex in her house last night. Puck sniggers and tosses Quinn her dress, the ex-Cheerio catching and balling it in her lap, watching Rachel. The brunette turns and moves back to the pan, saving her vegetables and bacon from nearly burning. She pushes the bacon onto a new plate and hands it to Puck behind her, then makes her plate and goes to sit at the table. Puck sits in the chair across from Quinn quickly, smiling at Rachel. With a sigh, she takes the seat closer to Quinn, picking at her vegetables with a fork.

In the uncomfortable silence, Quinn reaches across and rubs Rachel's shoulder, prompting her to look up. She's met with a kind smile and those same shining eyes and she can't help but smile back. Then it hits her. Quinn has feelings too. She admitted them and they both aren't sorry for what happened last night. Rachel's smile widens and she bites her lip to keep from giggling, looking down at her food and moving the pieces around and then finally taking a bite. Quinn must have the same thoughts because she can hear a small chuckle and the hand moves to her back, tugging on the ends of her long hair.

"So are you two going to start dating?" Puck breaks through their moment of bliss, his mouth nearly dripping with grease. His question is so sudden, something neither of the girls thought, they flick their heads up and stare at him in a mix of shock, worry, and panic.

"That, uhm," Quinn starts, taking her hand back to Rachel's disappointment, and placing it under her chin, "We haven't… talked a lot… about anything."

"Well, you two should," Puck says like nothing is awkward, tearing apart a strip of bacon, "Quinn, you've liked Rachel since day one, everyone saw it, they just didn't realize it."

"And how did you?" Quinn sneers. She quickly reigns in, a part of her HBIC Quinn showing and she closes her eyes to center herself.

"Rachel likes you and she wrote about it in her diary," Puck says, digging his grave deeper.

Instead of saying anything, Rachel ducks her head, letting her hair fall across her face to hide the red coming to her cheeks in mortification.

"When Rachel wrote about how she likes you, it clicked and I knew you liked her too," Puck explains, pushing his plate away, "You two were just so stubborn and caught up in your own lives back then that you couldn't see what it really was and it was _sexual tension_."

"_Noah_," Quinn warns. The use of Puck's real name coming from her causes Rachel to raise her head. Quinn is glaring at Noah, her own cheeks burning, the hand on the table in a fist now. Rachel has to admit, seeing Quinn angry and ready to punch Puck, even if he is trying to help… is kind of sexy.

"Okay, before you both start hating me; just ask yourself why you two aren't dating?"

Here, Quinn looks to Rachel and their eyes lock. It isn't some telepathic connection or even trying to guess what the other is intending to do. It's realizing how they feel. All Rachel knows is that her feelings for Quinn have always been there, dormant but waiting, and now that this night has happened and Quinn has been able to share these feelings through a bit of difficulty, Rachel's grow with each passing moment she stares deep into hazel.

"My family would disown me," Quinn says suddenly, her voice low and shame-ridden. She breaks eye contact and her hands fall to her lap.

It clicks then, why Quinn decided to hate Rachel instead of be friends with her, why Quinn is scared of her feelings instead of welcoming them, and why they aren't dating. Her family and their reputation, their religion, and their daughter that is supposed to be perfect are the obstacle. Instead of hurting Rachel, it pains her. She can't imagine living in a family that doesn't love her and accept her for how she feels and who she is. Rachel knows without a doubt that if she tells her fathers that she likes a girl, that she might even date this girl, they would celebrate her difference. Quinn doesn't have that and her family stands in the way of a relationship, even if they both want it.

"Puck?" a distant voice calls. At once, all three perk to attention, Rachel's revelation breaking by the sound of another person in the house. Quinn's hand reaches out to grab Rachel's, scared someone just heard them talking about their sensitive topic.

"Oh, fuck," Puck curses, standing. He looks around for a second and then starts counting off on his fingers, reaching five and remembering something. He waves a hand at Rachel, looking out of the kitchen for their mystery person, "Rachel! Play my girlfriend!"

"_What?_"

"Pretend to be my girlfriend!" Puck whispers harshly.

Out of nowhere, a girl appears in the doorway from the basement show room. Rachel and Quinn's mouths drop because they _swear_; Rihanna is stepping into their kitchen, looking apprehensive and pleading towards Puck.

"Who the hell is this?" Rachel finds herself acting the part, standing angrily enough for her chair to skid back a foot.

"Oh, uh, sweetie," Puck sputters, glancing between both women, "Uhm, look, I was drunk—"

"You _cheated_ on me?" Rachel shrills, her hand flying to her chest.

"Wait, I'm sorry, I'll just—!" the Rihanna look-alike starts, backing out of the kitchen now.

"Get out of my house!" Rachel yells, stepping towards the girl as Puck backs away, appearing scared, "Get out, you slut!"

The Rihanna look-alike throws a very confusing glance but with the distressed and angry demeanor coming from Rachel, she turns tail and scampers away. They hear the front door slam moments later and Puck darts away to the peephole. He starts laughing.

"She doesn't even have pants on and she's running down the street," he jeers, walking back in after a minute. He pats himself on the chest and sits back down, taking a dirty napkin from the floor and wiping his mouth, Quinn lifting a brow in distaste.

"Okay, I have an idea," Puck begins, acting as though a girl didn't just rise from the dead and went running out of the house without the rest of her clothes, "We have six days until New Year's. I suggest you two spend some quality time together, just the two of you, to decide whether or not you want to start 2013 as a couple or as friends who had a great end to 2012. Good?"

Rachel looks to Quinn, searching her eyes for an agreement. She can't see why the idea is a bad one and if she is honest, she would love to spend more time with Quinn, not breaking up fights, drunk, naked, or attempting to injure Lima students with fireworks. Just quality time to really get to know Quinn, see the sides of her she never thought she would have a chance to. It's their first mental agreement and they nod together, Quinn smiling as she does, her hand still in Rachel's.

Puck slaps the table and grins, standing up. "Great! Now, I have to clean the bathrooms."

"Why do you have to clean the bathrooms?" Rachel questions, looking up.

"Do _you_ want to clean the bathrooms?" Puck suggests, giving Rachel a look that means she _really_ doesn't want to clean the bathrooms.

"You had _sex_ in all three of my bathrooms!" Rachel says incredulously, "One of them is my fathers'!"

"And that is why I am cleaning them!" Puck quips, standing and going to the refrigerator. He finds a small stock of beer and grabs one for himself, then takes two more out and sets them on the table in front of the girls. He cracks his open, takes a drink, and then points the nozzle at the other two, "Seriously, they'll help with the hangovers."

Quinn shrugs and grabs a beer, popping the cap off with her teeth and handing it over to Rachel. She does the same with hers, and holds it up. Rachel giggles and clinks hers against the blonde's, sharing their first drink of the morning.

* * *

**A/N: Omfg. So, I had most of this done last night and thought, "Hey! I need a drink!" So I have a couple drinks and just play innocent bystander to an epic game of Nerf guns. The moment I decide to join in and chase down one of my friends, I round a corner and there's a little but spunky Nerf pistol in my face and... I get shot in the eye.**

**As it turns out, I got the smallest black eye you could imagine. It's a little puffy and a little bruised beneath. It still hurts and itches, but if I touch it, it hurts worse. Wow. Smooth move, Caitlyn.**

**Anyways, here's part II! 2 down, 2 to go! :D**

**Hope everyone had a great New Year's! (don't shoot people in the eyes with powerful, little Nerf guns. they will fall to the ground and almost cry)**

**-x**


	3. Part III: The Right Words

_**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel — Part III**_

* * *

**A/N: Thought I would clear up a couple background details.**

**- Rachel is not with Finn and hasn't been with him in a while.**

**- Quinn has not had her car accident (she also still has her long hair).**

**- Quinn's parents are still together, to add to the pressure she feels from her family.**

**- Puck's sister will remain unnamed as she hasn't been specifically identified in the Glee series.**

**- Quinn's sister, Frannie, hasn't made an appearance in the Glee series so any descriptions/behaviors I may write are practically headcanon. Feel free to agree or disagree.**

**- I love you.**

**Okay, done c:**

* * *

_Later that day on December 25, 2012 — 11:57 a.m._

* * *

Rachel steps from her bathroom, fixing the top of her towel to assure it's wrapped firmly underneath her arms. She looks up and gasps. Despite a towel covering all of her parts, she still feels vulnerable in front of Quinn, sitting a bit anxiously on the end of her bed.

"Hey," Quinn greets softly, a small smile on her lips. Her fingers are fidgeting with each other as she stands.

"I didn't know you would be in here," Rachel says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear nervously, "I could just grab my clothes and—"

"No, it's okay," Quinn cuts off, "I was going to take a shower next. I just waited because… I wanted to…"

She lets the end hang and Rachel watches her, expecting an explanation but not what she does next. Quinn closes the distance between them hastily and cups Rachel's face, bringing her lips down on hers earnestly. The kiss catches Rachel off guard and she squeaks before immediately melting against the blonde's body, her arms looping around her waist of their own accord. Quinn kisses her for just a few more moments and then pulls back, panting a little and looking down into chocolate eyes.

"I wanted to finish our kiss," she says breathlessly, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. Rachel nods, speechless, and then the towel makes itself known again when she feels a breeze against parts of her that is becoming rather heated.

Laughing nervously, Rachel unwinds her arms and Quinn drops her hands, clearing her throat. She puts on a practiced face Rachel has seen her do many times at school and then passes by her with a smile, into the bathroom.

"There're towels in the drawer and you can use my hair dryer if you need," Rachel says, keeping Quinn from shutting the door to hear all that she has to say.

"What about a toothbrush?" Quinn asks, leaning on the hand holding the frame of the doorway.

"There should be a spare, unopened one in the drawer beside the sink."

"Thank you," and the blonde girl shuts the door.

Rachel has to keep from thinking about Quinn stripping out of her tiny clothing and stepping into the shower. She rubs her forehead at the thoughts still filtering through and tries to ignore her slight problem between her legs as she finds some underwear and clothes to wear, quickly changing and finding it much more comfortable.

Downstairs, Puck is opening a garbage bag, having found them beneath the sink by Rachel's instructions. The little diva enters the kitchen and greets the freshly showered boy with a smile and holds out a hand for a bag.

"So?" he asks, smiling genuinely and handing her the already opened bag, "Did you have fun?"

"Honestly?" Rachel sighs, using a plate to scrape filthy napkins and dirtier plates into the trash bag, "I did. I mean, even before Quinn showed up, I sort of liked the attention."

"Not too much attention," Puck threatens, using a broom to push trash from the floor into his garbage bag, "My kicking a kid's ass still stands, post-party."

Rachel laughs and throws a couple Solo cups into her bag daintily, not wanting her hands to get too dirty. "Did you clean the bathrooms already?"

"My shower took five minutes, I brought my own toothbrush, and I used your disinfectant and scrub to wash the bathrooms while you took yours," he informs, chuckling.

"Good." Rachel drops her bag to dig underneath the sink again and pulls out a pair of rubber cleaning gloves. With a smirk at Puck shaking his head, she begins working again, much more comfortable with some form of protection against the germs and bacteria she could pick up from the multitude of kids that wrecked her house.

"So a couple friends, huh?" Rachel voices, looking at Puck from beneath her still damp hair.

"So, a lot more people came," he says, holding up his arms, "I can't help that when the Puckster says there's a party, they all come crawling."

Shaking her head, Rachel shovels chili off her counter. She didn't even have the ingredients to make chili in her house…

Their kitchen cleaning continues, Puck moving on into the living room, for twenty minutes before Quinn appears. She steps into the kitchen, wearing Rachel's biggest clothes and just barely fitting her. Rachel snickers and finishes putting away all the cleaned plates she can find for now. More are sure to turn up as the day unfolds.

Quinn opens the refrigerator to just barely catch an open Red Bull 64 ounce from falling out of the door. She scoffs, scrunching her aristocratic nose at just who might've drank that, and sets it on the counter by the sink to be emptied. She organizes all the food and drinks that isn't beer or a bottle of Patron, another party favor by the sounds, and then announces, "All this alcohol needs to be gone before you dads come back."

"I know," Rachel says, taking off her gloves and grabbing the Red Bull can to dump down the drain, "And we still need to take inventory of the liquor cabinet to see what we can salvage and start restocking."

"Ahead of you, my ladies," Puck says, returning to the kitchen with a full bag of trash, "Quinn, my baby mama you, if you could count what's in the fridge, I can add it to this," and he taps something beneath his shirt.

"Your abs?" the blonde sneers in retaliation to his nickname of her, "Oh, right, silly me. What abs?"

"Ha ha," Puck laughs sarcastically. He sets down the trash to lift up his shirt and take out the notepad he carried around before, flipping to a page of tallies and inventory of alcohol. Quinn shrugs a shoulder and opens the fridge again to count the beers.

"I'm going to be loading the trash bags into the back of the truck," he announces, picking his back up, "When you guys have filled one up, just set it by the door. Wouldn't want your little nosies to get cold!"

Rachel kicks at his legs as he walks by. She throws the emptied Red Bull can into the trash bag and stoops to pick it up when a thought hits her. Standing up stock-straight, she looks at the tilted clock (how the hell did it get tilted?) above the entryway to the living room, reading the time.

"Shit," she mutters, abandoning the bag and darting for the stairs. She just gets to the top and can hear Quinn footfalls behind her, but she doesn't wait and bursts into her room, running for her night stand. She picks up her phone to read two missed calls, about an hour apart and from her fathers. She bites her lips nervously as she hits "Call Back" and sits down on the edge of her bed, Quinn rounding the end and stopping before Rachel with a confused and a little panicked expression.

It takes two rings and then, "Good morning and Merry Christmas, baby doll!"

"Hi, daddy, Merry Christmas to you and dad, too," Rachel greets, breathing a sigh of relief when it seems they aren't worried… yet.

"We called you twice already," her daddy states. There it is.

"I know, I slept in," Rachel replies, shrugging and looking up at Quinn. The blonde nods, running a hand through her drying hair in a motion of recognition and relief. "Puck came by last night with dinner and a movie so we hung out for a while and I guess I was just really tired."

"Did he stay the night? Did you guys do anything?" She can tell he's messing with her but there's always a truth behind a joking question.

"No, daddy, you know I wouldn't allow him," she says, feeling a pinch of guilt in her chest. The guilt must've been written on her face for that second because Quinn kneels and rubs a hand on Rachel's knee soothingly, watching her face for further give-aways.

"Alright, well, could you open our present so we can hear your reaction?"

Rachel's eyes widen and a forced smile finds its way onto her face. This look must be of panic because Quinn is starting to stand, trying to silently ask Rachel what's wrong and what she needs to do.

"Oh? Really?" Rachel asks, her voice just barely managing to keep from cracking or sounding fake and high-pitched, "You want me to open my present? Which one is that one again?"

"It should be red with white ribbons," her daddy details happily.

Rachel stands, grabbing Quinn's hand as she makes for the door quickly, trying to be quiet as possible and not step on any trash on the way down the stairs.

"Rachel?"

"I'm going downstairs, daddy, I'll find it in a second," Rachel explains, Quinn's hand tight in hers.

Puck is just opening the door, preparing to say something and Quinn's hand tears away to clamp over his face, stopping him. She holds him from making any movement, watching Rachel for her next move.

"Oh, hold on daddy, there's… the newspaper at the door," Rachel lies. She takes the phone away from her ear and covers the mouthpiece, looking to Puck and whisper yelling, "Where's my presents?"

"Upstairs closet, with mine," he whispers between Quinn's fingers, looking lost, "I had to put them there because the downstairs closet is full. Get mine, will you?"

Rachel waves dismissively at Puck and puts the phone back to her ear. "Just one more moment, daddy."

"Sure thing, sweetums."

Hurrying back up the stairs, Rachel moves down the hallway as quick as she can, dodging a puddle that needs to be carpet-cleaned. Reaching the closet door, she panics when she doesn't know where the key is, and drops to knees on a whim. Reaching underneath, she sweeps for a moment and then finds the little metal tool. Picking it up, she unlocks the door noiselessly and presents fall out to her feet. Spotting the one her daddy described, she picks it up and sinks to the floor, a real smile now gracing her lips at the prospect of opening a present.

"Okay, I'm opening it," she says, then holds the phone between her shoulder and ear. She slips the ribbons off and tears apart the wrapping to a small box. Lifting the cover, she gasps aloud when inside she finds the complete boxset of _Friends_, the one TV sitcom she can watch besides her beloved musicals. Squealing as she lifts the boxset from the wrapping, realizing just how heavy it actually is, she opens the little glass door with a picture of the six friends, running her fingers over each season's spine.

"Do you like it?" her daddy asks anxiously.

"I love it, daddy!" she giggles, closing the little door and hugging the present to her chest, "Tell dad thank you! I'm going to watch it all day!"

"Good! That is what we were hoping for!" her daddy says, laughing, her dad whooping in the background, "Invite Puck over so you're not alone, I'm sure he'd love to watch!"

Down the hallway, she sees Quinn and Puck standing just around the corner from the stairs, watching her with little smiles on their faces like parents have when they watch their child riding a bike for the first time. Looking directly at them, she says, "I won't be alone. We will watch it together."

"Fantastic," her daddy exclaims, "Now, your father and I are about to go swimming with the dolphins _again_, so we love you and miss you, baby."

"I love and miss you two," she says, her eyes falling back to her new DVDs, "Have fun."

"We will. Merry Christmas, Rachel."

"Merry Christmas, daddy."

Hanging up, she lets a deep sigh out and leans against the hallway wall, a smile gracing her lips. Her dads are none the wiser about the party.

* * *

It's awkward not knowing what to say. At least Puck has the audacity to take his cleaning upstairs and give Rachel the times she needs alone with Quinn before she leaves. Rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands clasped behind her, Rachel can feel her cheeks reddening as it becomes more and more prevalent that neither of them know what to say. Lifting her eyes, she sees the smallest of smiles on Quinn's lips, her eyes twinkling. She lifts a hand to tuck back a lock of her hair and then clears her throat.

"I had… fun last night," Quinn breaks the silence, "I think."

Rachel giggles. "Yes, I think I did too."

"Though the hangover is not worth doing something like that again until at least college."

"I agree." Rachel can't find anything else to say but tack on her little pieces at the end of whatever Quinn says, and it makes her feel childish, her blush deepening. She worries her lip, not knowing how the exact protocol goes for their kind of situation, let alone even knowing what their situation is. But she knows that Quinn needs to go home and spend a little bit of Christmas with her family if the phone call has any significance to what Quinn would really rather be doing. Having a phone call and Quinn pick up to her mother chewing her out for not being home like promised reveals that Quinn had no qualms for staying the rest of the day if she could. For the whole lecture, Quinn's reaction was angry and irritated, little snappy comments the only responses she gives. When her mother finally hung up, she left to pace in the backyard, the cool, fresh air serving to calm her down. Rachel knew her family wasn't picture perfect like they would like to be, but she didn't know it affected Quinn quite so much.

"I'll text you," they both say abruptly and at the same time. Their eyes widen at the coincidence and then break into giggles, Rachel meeting Quinn's eyes evenly. She wants to kiss her but she feels that isn't what is appropriate for the moment and even a hug seems too much too soon. Taking a step back and flashing her famous award-winning smile, Rachel bids Quinn a goodbye and to get home safe. Quinn looks as though she wants some form of interaction as well, the flush creeping up her neck, but she too grabs the handle of the door, dashes a smile over her shoulder, and leaves.

Watching through the frosted window beside the door, Rachel makes sure that Quinn crosses the street safely, noticing the shiver once she gets to her car. Fortunately for her, her dress isn't harmed in the slightest, nor dirty, but all she has is her cardigan and the weather seems unpleasantly cold this morning, the gray clouds hanging in the sky a foreshadow of what's to come. Quinn's car starts up and then glides away from the curb, moving the down the street and out of sight, and with that, Rachel steps back and twirls, a very school-girl-with-a-crush squeal pealing from her mouth.

"I take it everything went smoothly?" Puck asks, descending the stairs with a half full bag of trash and a smirk on his face, "Did you guys kiss?"

"No," Rachel says, her voice pitched and her smile keeping her from looking at all serious, "We just agreed to text each other."

"Oh, _saucy_," Puck jests, getting shouldered as he passes through into the living room.

Rachel brought her boxset from downstairs and now that things were clearing up for them to just focus on cleaning, she joins Puck in the living room and takes the first disc from season one. She shuffles her way through the after-party mess and clears away the cups and set of underwear covering the DVD player. Putting in the disk and excited to see that her TV works and is remained unfazed by the all the sound equipment from last night, Rachel plays the episodes for background noise. Donning her rubber gloves and taking another trash bag, her and Puck make small talk and swap versions of the party as they work. Puck sees it beneficial to collect all the underwear, wash them, and sell them, but just the thought of having to handle other people's clothing she knows nothing about makes Rachel sick and in the end, the argument wins in her favor and lost clothing is thrown in the bags as well. It isn't for another hour when Rachel remembers she has Puck's present to give.

"Hey, we haven't opened your present yet!" she pipes up, dropping a jug of Smirnoff in her trash bag and facing Puck by the sliding doors.

"Oh, right," he says, sweeping cigarette butts into the broom pan, "Do you want me to open it now?"

"Yes!" and she abandons her trash bag to bolt upstairs and dig around the closet of presents for the one she wrapped for her best friend. Finding just the package, she nearly skips down the steps and back into the living room, where Puck is wiping his hands on the t-shirt he finally put on and breaks into a smile at the sight of the hyper brunette.

Taking his present, he lifts it to his ear and shakes it lightly. The box is long and rectangular, giving no real insight as to what the gift inside could be, and there is hardly any clue by the slight rattle. Sitting on the couch with Rachel almost falling on him in anticipation, he rips away the wrapping paper only to suck in a shocked breath.

"You did _not_!" he exclaims, holding up the box with the picture of the limited edition Star Wars Storm Trooper blaster facing her, as if Rachel hadn't been the one to buy it for him. All at once, Puck is just Noah, a twelve year old boy bouncing on the couch, popping open the end and pulling out his new addition to his favorite movie series collection. He flies to his feet, swinging the gun upwards, and pulls on the trigger, noises from the movie blaring from some speaker, the barrel of the blaster lighting up with bright red lights like actual lasers are shooting at his targets. He jumps over the coffee table and rolls through the little bit of trash they still have left to pick up, making explosions with his mouth and adding to the atmosphere of the gun. Rachel laughs at his role-play, watching as he jumps and ducks and rolls and peers around corners of the living room, randomly shouting Star Wars related commands and names, and once pretending to be hit and falling back against a chair, flipping over it and holding his chest where the laser was supposed to hit him.

"Alright, well, you have fun with that," Rachel says loudly over his sudden revival and continuation of explosions. She shakes her head and grabs the trash bag again, going upstairs to clean so that Puck has free roam to play throughout the rest of the house.

She is about to pass her room when the thought of Quinn potentially shooting her a text stops her and she has to go check. Removing the gloves from her hands again and taking her phone from her nightstand, it lights up to show a multitude of texts, some from people she has no idea are, others from friends thanking her for a good time, and the most recent one from Quinn. She seats herself on the edge of her bed, her fingers antsy, and opens the message.

_Thought I would text you to let you know I got home safe. :)_

Selecting the box to respond, Rachel types back, _Thank you. I hope you have a good rest of Christmas! :)_

Tucking her phone in the pocket of her sweatpants, Rachel moves back out into the hallway to begin cleaning again. She chuckles when she hears Puck cry out and from the sounds, has moved his battle into the kitchen. She throws a couple wrappers and puts on a glove with disgust to pick up a condom wrapper, her lip curling in thoughts of who used it and where the actual condom is, when her phone vibrates again.

_Could I call you tonight?_

Stomaching twining at the thought of Quinn, _Quinn Fabray_, actually calling her, Rachel replies, _Sure. Call whenever. Puck might still be here but I'll make him leave the room when we talk._

_ Great. :)_

* * *

More than half of the entire first season of _Friends_ is already played and hours have passed of non-stop cleaning. Puck finally holstered his gun in the belt and holster that came along with his present and now cleans, sometimes randomly saying things in Star Wars dialect upon making discoveries.

"This is a droid I wouldn't mind looking for," he says suggestively, lifting a black lace bra that reads a 34 C. Rachel scoffs and takes the bra from his grasp, throwing it into her trash bag.

The next time Puck has to make a run outside to dump a trash bag into the back of his truck, he returns inside with damp shoulders.

"It's starting to snow," he reports. He pats his Star Wars gun. "I could totally be a Snow Trooper if enough sticks."

"You are the dorkiest badass I have ever met," Rachel teases, sweeping a whole line of Solo cups into her trash bag and looking past Puck to the TV where she watches Monica and Rachel quarrel over two handsome doctors. Puck steps into her line of vision with his eyebrows raised, a smirk on his lips.

"The dorkiest _and_ the most handsome badass you have ever met, you mean," he corrects for Rachel, flexing an arm and lifting to kiss his bicep.

"Get out of the way," Rachel says, ignoring Puck's self-enamor and trying to watch the episode, "They're fighting over George Clooney."

"George Clooney always steals my limelight," Puck mutters, grabbing a fresh trash bag and stamping away to clean the basement show-room.

* * *

They're on the second season when the majority of the house is cleaned. Popping some popcorn, Rachel seats herself, immersing in the episode, while Puck leaves for the back patio to call home, estimating that his mother should be awake by now from her bar adventures last night. He called earlier in the morning to check in on his sister but she was so distracted with opening her four presents that she could hardly speak and Puck just hung up, knowing she's alright. His mother must be awake by now because he's talking animatedly, as is the usual in their household, and Rachel glances at him before throwing a couple popped kernels in her mouth and returning to her show.

Her phone begins to ring and vibrate in her pocket and her heart stops. She has totally forgotten about Quinn texting her after she left this morning and suddenly remembers she is supposed to call. Setting the plastic bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, Rachel stands and digs out her phone, reflexively sticking her free left hand in her sweatpants pocket, hunching her shoulders as she answers and puts the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks timidly, sure her shy smile can be heard in her voice.

"Hi," Quinn's voice replies happily, but a bit soft, "I'm in the bathroom so I apologize for speaking low. Dad suggested a movie for 'family bonding time'," Rachel can hear the air quotation marks and imagine the look of skepticism on her face, "and I don't know how long it will last. I wanted to call, anyways."

"That's fine," Rachel assures, biting her lip, "I'm glad you did."

"I am too," Quinn agrees, breathing a laugh at the end, "I wanted to maybe talk a little longer but I can't be gone long so… I'll just ask what I really wanted to ask."

Rachel knows it's not supposed to happen yet, that they're supposed to spend a couple quality days together before anything serious develops, but she can't help the wide grin coming to her face or the way her nerves jitter at the thought of Quinn Fabray asking Rachel to be her girlfriend. It doesn't disappoint her when it's not the question she expects, but still surprises her when it's a different question nonetheless.

"Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?"

"I would love to!" Rachel practically shrieks. She claps her hand over her mouth, glancing up to Puck swiveling around to stare at her questioningly from the patio, and backtracking, also hoping she hasn't seem over-enthusiastic, "I mean, that would be great."

Quinn laughs, a sound that just melts Rachel's insides. "I'll pick you up for lunch so we have a couple hours to kill afterwards."

"You don't have to pick me up, I have my car," Rachel explains, twisting on her ankles like she can't stand still.

"Well, I'm going to," Quinn says adamantly, "Be ready by 11:30?"

"I will," Rachel says, nodding even if the blonde can't see her. Rachel can just visualize the little smirk on her pink lips and her fingers possibly fidgeting with another dress she wears. It seems she wears dresses more than she'd like to, more to please her family with the appearance of innocence and good-nature as they want their daughter to be perfect. Either way, she looks beautiful and that's all that really matters.

"Merry Christmas, Rachel," Quinn wishes.

"Merry Christmas, Quinn," Rachel repeats, barely containing herself and hanging up. As soon as the connection cuts, Rachel throws both hands above her head and squeals, spinning a couple times before flopping backwards onto the couch, her phone bouncing on the cushion next to her. Her whole body feels alive and it feels like there is a hanger in her mouth because she is smiling so much. Yes, she got that line from _Friends_, but it's true.

"What was that?" Puck shuts the sliding doors, a momentary breeze of cold air brushing Rachel's arms. He pockets his phone, in seemingly good moods so it must mean his mother is recovering from a killer hangover and is too preoccupied to care whether or not he's home for the holiday.

"Quinn is taking me out on a lunch date tomorrow," Rachel says, positively beaming.

"Score," Puck praises, falling on the couch beside her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and props a sock-clad foot up on the edge of the coffee table, adding, "Better spend as much time with my Princess as I can before Quinn steals her away."

"No one could steal me away from you," Rachel giggles, resting against the crook of Puck's muscled arm, "Except for Quinn. It all depends."

"Exactly my point," Puck sighs, "Either way, my little Jew, I'll be here when the rain starts to fall. Or snow, whichever the weather decides to do."

* * *

_December 26__th__, 2012 — 9:00 a.m._

* * *

Instead of an annoying bleat one would typically hear when an alarm goes off, Rachel jumps up to the idea that today is the day of her first day with Quinn. She slaps the alarm clock off automatically and jumps from bed, right onto her elliptical. She hasn't been doing enough exercise in the morning due to recent events but she needs to look her best for later today. She sets the on machine timer for thirty minutes and begins pumping vigorously, finding a point on her wall, which happens to be a cutout star, and focuses on pushing herself to the limit for the next predestinated time.

Puck left around ten o'clock last night, to drop off their third load of trash, to see his family, and on Rachel's advice so she won't be distracted in the least to prepare for today. He told her to text or call him after everything goes smoothly with Quinn because he wants to hear the steamy details of their public closet hook-up at the place they'll go out to eat and it's surprising Puck doesn't have bruises on his arms from the amount of times Rachel has hit him the past couple of days.

Her mind is white noise at this point, the only thing in her eyes is the solitary star on her wall, and her legs begin burning at the ten minute mark but she works through it. Though she is typically more seen as a girly girl with little athleticism or affinity for sports, she does believe in the motto of "no pain, no gain" and she applies that to her elliptical routines. She feels sweat gather at the nape of her neck and doesn't bother stopping to towel it off. She blinks against the burning in her eyes from staring at her focal point too long and pushes her arms against the handle bars, triceps flexing beneath her tanned skin. There's just something releasing and revitalizing about working out on her machine, of self-motivation, no pressure from teammates or opponents, no one to stand around and spout off tips to better position herself or encourage to go faster. Just herself and her mind. She breathes steadily, in through her nose, out through her mouth. The thought of a nice, lukewarm shower awaits her and she resists glancing at the timer because not knowing how much longer you have to work keeps you going and makes the time fly by faster.

In fifteen minutes, the timer alerts her and she gradually slows from her pace. She steps off the pedals, maintaining her leveled breathing, and grabs her towel to wipe the sweat from her brow, moving towards her bathroom. Stripping out of her work out clothes she changed into the night before so she could get right onto the elliptical in the morning, she steps into the shower and stands a minute as said lukewarm water washes away the buzz of post-workout.

Washing, shaving, getting out and toweling off, Rachel glimpses the clock on her night stand, reading the near hour of ten in the morning. Smiling at her good time, she walks to her closet and ponders on what to wear. Dressing like she did the night of the party is way inappropriate but she shouldn't dress too casual. Sifting through hangers of clothing, she stops on an off-white, threaded sweater, just warm enough for the weather. Taking it from the hanger, she dresses, pairing it with a beautiful light-burgundy ruffled skirt, black leggings, and her black pumps she wore the night of the party, which seem to match with the outfit and give her a more sophisticated look. She takes her long, tan coat from inside the closet door and sets it on the bed to wear over and keep her from the elements, should they get too bad. Last night it began to snow but looking out the window when she stepped from the shower showed that it had melted and left the world a dreary place with gray clouds still blanketing the sky.

The next hour is spent doing her hair and makeup, checking and checking again to make sure everything is just how she wants it. With everything prepared, she still has thirty minutes before Quinn is to show up. Rachel tidies up her bathroom and makes her bed, moving into her parents' bedroom to make sure Puck did a thorough job cleaning any evidence of a party. She collects a few wrappers and a beer can, steps into the bathroom to wash down their mirror, and sprays the inside of the shower in the chance it served as a place for sexual intercourse.

Her phone starts ringing from down the hall and she hurries to put away the last few items in the bathroom before running to her room and catching her phone. She answers, breathless.

"I'm a couple minutes early," and the clock on Rachel's nightstand say ten minutes early, "so we can leave whenever you are ready."

"I'm ready now," Rachel says, enjoying the fact that Quinn makes an effort to arrive ahead of time. Punctuality is something she finds important… and attractive. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Great," Quinn says cheerfully and hangs up.

Washing her hands quickly and touching up her hair, Rachel grabs her coat, swinging it around her shoulders, and grabs her clutch. She hurries downstairs, taking out her keys to lock the house once outside. She opens the door to nearly charge into Quinn.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Rachel apologizes, eyes wide in surprise and then embarrassment, Quinn's hands on her arms as she catches her from running into her.

Quinn chuckles and smiles, "It's no problem. Don't you need to lock your door?" Her eyebrow rises during the question as Rachel stares up into hazel, getting herself lost. Shaking her head, Rachel mutters "right" and turns around, locking the door and putting her keys in her clutch. Turning back around, she has a smile in place now. Clasping her hands in front of her, her heart jumps into her throat as Quinn places her hand on her lower back and walks her to the passenger side of her car, opening the door. Color is running to her cheeks at the gesture and Rachel sits inside, pulling her coat around her, more to keep herself shaking with excitement than shivering with cold.

Seating herself in the driver's seat, Quinn's face is tinted pink as well. She turns the car back on and twists in her seat, peering out the back window as she reverses down the drive. Rachel can't help herself as she glances sidelong at Quinn, in her navy blue dress and soft red and white striped cardigan, cinched with a thin tan belt around the waist. Her cardigan is completely unbuttoned, falling open and exposing delicate collarbones and a pale expanse of skin reaching all the way to the subtle swell of breasts and the dip of her dress between. She licks her lips at the sight and forces her eyes to look forward, watching her house turn away to the side, and then they're driving down the road.

"So where are we going out to eat?" Rachel asks, hoping for some light conversation to keep her thoughts from roaming too far.

"Not Breadstix," Quinn assures, flashing a smile Rachel's way, "But that also means the place I'd like to go is a little farther away. I hope that's alright?"

"That's perfectly fine," Rachel agrees, fingers dancing over the clasp of her clutch for something to do.

"Did you see it snowing last night?" Quinn continues, seeming casual and comfortable with the pink blush leaving her face now.

"Actually, no. I was too busy watching _Friends_ to see it and it all melted by the time I woke up this morning," Rachel admits, looking out the window to the puddles along the side of the road.

"From the looks of it, it'll start up again soon," Quinn says, leaning a bit over the steering wheel to see the clouds, "I like the snow. It makes everything appear beautiful, even if it is the most miserable thing normally."

"I think the same way," Rachel says, pleased to know Quinn and her are talking and finding common interests, "It adds a magical quality to everything."

"Then for the sake of both us, I hope it snows," Quinn wishes, smiling idly as she drives.

Little did they know, the weather is hurrying to make their wish true, and within ten minutes of driving through Lima, in a section of smaller shops and restaurants, a flurry begins. Snowflakes paint themselves to Quinn's windshield and she has to turn on the windshield wipers to clear the glass. Both girls are too pleased to speak on the coincidence of snowfall but their combined wish must mean that they'll get twice the snow they want. As they're driving, the snow flurry turns quickly into a snow storm.

"Wow," Quinn breathes, squinting to see the road, "This is more than we hoped for."

"Can you drive safely?" Rachel asks, now concerned for their well-being. She faces her window and can tell that Quinn has slowed down, stores moving past at a quick pace but not fast enough to blur.

"I'm not sure," the blonde admits, turning her wipers to maximum function, "The snow is building quickly. Do you think we should get off the road?"

"You have such a little car, I think it would be best," Rachel advises, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Her hand catches the door, grasping it from the nervousness of getting in a car wreck. Fortunately, Quinn doesn't test going much farther and the lip of the curb approaches as the car is expertly steered to park by a row of little buildings, the sign of an antique store just barely standing out against the curtains of snow that flits by. Quinn turns the car off suddenly and the brunette turns to give her a puzzled expression.

"There's a coffee shop right there," and she points to where a sign of a coffee cup is just barely visible, "Since I can't take you where I wanted to eat for lunch, we can hole up in there and at least get some coffee to warm up."

"Do we have to get out?" Rachel asks, wrapping the lapel of her coat closer to her chest.

"We can't stay in the car forever," Quinn says, looking around, "The heater could break, it's small and I get claustrophobic easy."

"You're claustrophobic?" The new detail about Quinn excites Rachel for some reason and she turns to face her instead of the window. A small smile brings out a shy shrug from the former-cheerleader.

"Frannie locked me in a closet when I was seven for spilling soda on her favorite dress," Quinn explains, her eyes falling to her lap where she fiddles with her keys, "I stayed in there for hours and I couldn't find the cord to turn on the light. I got so claustrophobic I started screaming and my mom found me. I'm scared of small places if I'm in them for too long, especially… elevators."

Giggles erupt from Rachel's throat and she has to put a hand over her mouth to stifle them. Quinn just chuckles and shakes her head, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh," Rachel says, finally controlling herself, "I've never had siblings so I've never really been forced to be scared of anything other than what I make up in my head."

"Well, now you know," Quinn says, smiling like she's finally happy to tell someone her little fear, "And if you tell anyone, I'll roll you up in a blanket and make you claustrophobic."

Rachel gives Quinn a look that prompts her to finish with a sigh, "Frannie did that to me, too."

"Sisters really _do_ fight a lot," Rachel comments absently and turns for the door. She puts a hand on the handle and looking over her shoulder, gives Quinn a coy expression. "Ready to brave the snow?"

"Count of three?" Quinn asks, turning to do the same. Rachel nods and together they count, "One… two… _three_!"

All at once, Rachel leaps from the car and is met with blistering cold winds and little needles stinging her face in the form of snowflakes. She slams the door shut behind her, laughing aloud at the pain of the snow, and without knowing just where Quinn is, begins a run in her heels, which isn't very fast, towards the coffee shop. Just like the night of the party, her free hand not holding her clutch swings back and is caught by a warm hand, fingers threading through hers and holding tightly. Quinn is at her side, her blonde hair blowing back from her face, eyes squinted to almost shut, and her mouth is open, distant laughter heard in the wailing, chilling winds. Running together, hands held fiercely, Rachel reaches the door and pulls on the freezing metal, opening the door for Quinn to rush inside and her to follow. Just like the extreme cold of stepping outside in this sudden snow storm, they step into what feels like a hearth. Warm air caresses her face and she takes a welcomed breath, the weather outside having hurt her throat and the air inside being like soup to soothe it. Quinn beside her gives a breathy laugh, fixing her hair and wiping her forehead of the snowflakes that has melted there. She still looks down on Rachel even with her heels and smiles, lifting her other hand to brush at her shoulders.

"What will you have to drink?" she asks, her eyes shining for the third time in the same way that seems to happen whenever she is around Rachel.

"I'll try…" and Rachel looks to the overhead board, just now noticing the two surprised baristas, "the Christmas-cinnamon latte, and make it soy please."

"Of course," Quinn says, rolling her eyes playfully. She lets go of Rachel hand and waves for her to find a seat while she orders, pulling out her wallet from her own jacket pocket.

Facing the rest of the cozy, homey, earthy-smelling coffee shop, she only sees two other patrons, an elderly couple, sharing a couple cookies and cups of coffee. They sit on a couch with a laptop on their legs and earphones for each of them. They smile at whatever they watch, courtesy of the free Wi-Fi, and Rachel smiles endearingly at spotting their joined hands, the elderly man's thumb shakily sweeping over the back of his wife's. It is probably the most adorable thing Rachel has ever witnessed.

Walking towards the farthest end of the coffee shop, she sits at a little booth that is set in the corner by the window, displaying the blizzard outside. Now in a comfortable temperature, Rachel shrugs off her coat and folds it in half, setting it on the seat beside her along with her clutch on top of it. She waits patiently, finding a book that is lodged between the side of the booth and the window, a volume of Oscar Wilde's greatest works. Intrigued, she flips open to a random page and reads a few lines, not making much sense of the words as she doesn't find it worthwhile if she doesn't start from the beginning.

"What're you reading?" Quinn asks, breaking Rachel from the page. She sets two coffee cups on the table, nudging the one with Rachel's specified order towards her and taking her own for a drink.

"It's just a book I found on the sill," Rachel adverts, closing the cover and pushing it to the side. She looks over her order with a smile and sips, the hot liquid refreshing with a rich flavor that definitely meets the requirements of one of her favorite drinks. Too bad it's only around for the holidays.

"So I suppose we will be here until the snow lets up," Quinn says, shouldering her coat off and slinging it over the back of her side of the booth.

"Even then, how will we get home? The roads will be unsafe." To solidify her point, Rachel looks out the window, gusts of wind evident in the fall and then lifting and then falling of snow again as they follow the force.

"Call Puck?" Quinn shrugs, "I think his truck could handle the roads and I'm sure he has tire chains."

"He should put some on yours," Rachel says, smiling. She takes another drink.

"So I can drive to see you again?" and the question sounds hopeful.

"So your life won't be endangered," and the answer is honest. Quinn smiles, looking down at the table, the faint rose pink returning to her cheeks again. Rachel could really grow to love that look of subtle shyness.

"So, the infamous Quinn Fabray is scared of tight spaces," Rachel starts, leaning back in her seat and looking at Quinn like she's discovered the secret to undermining her, "Is it safe to assume that's the only thing you fear?"

"If there are others, I'm not telling you," Quinn replies evenly, turning her cardboard cup on the table and meeting Rachel's suspicious gaze easily.

"I'll tell you one of mine."

"I already know one."

"Oh?"

"Yup. You're afraid of ever losing your voice."

"Oh, but that's obvious and not even a real fear— more of a concern."

"Fine then. What about your fear of someone with talent overshadowing yours?"

Rachel sucks in a breath, feigning hurt. "Low blow, Fabray."

"Am I right?" Quinn quirks an eyebrow.

Rachel sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Are we even then?"

"I'm not telling you anything else," Quinn says, sipping her coffee daintily.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Rachel valiantly attempting to persuade Quinn into revealing another fear she may have. She isn't quite sure what is forcing her to do this, why she needs to know this, but knowing that a person like Quinn Fabray also has realistic fears makes her seem more… attainable. For so long, Rachel has placed her on a pedestal in her mind, wanting to be just as beautiful, just as athletic, and just as clever as her. Now, it's no longer about that but more of knowing who Quinn really is, and if the case ever arises, being there when she needs her.

"_Rachel_," Quinn drags out, drumming her fingers on the table, "Why do you want to know?"

"Maybe so I won't do something that scares you?" Rachel shrugs a shoulder, "Or to protect you if you're like, scared of spiders. Though, I must warn you, I won't be the most stoic of protectors because I suspect I have a bit of arachnophobia."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. She pauses a moment, brows furrowing slightly, thinking, and Rachel waits to see what she says, sensing that the blonde is actually contemplating revealing another part of herself.

"You know what my family is like," Quinn starts softly, looking up. The air turns serious and Rachel nods, waiting for Quinn to continue. "I guess you can say I have one more fear: atychiphobia. It's the fear of… failure. My parents _love_ Frannie. She is the perfect daughter with the perfect grades, the perfect boyfriend, went to the perfect college… they were so proud of her, they wanted to feel that all again and I was more or less another chance for them to raise another trophy child. But I didn't _quite_ live up to their expectations and then everything was completely ruined when I had Beth. Since then, I've had this need to prove myself to my parents, my father more than my mother."

While she was speaking, she grew solemn and barely moved her fingers along the sides of her cup. Rachel could feel her struggle to admit this and felt privileged to be explained something that is so personal. Reaching across the table, she pries her fingers between Quinn's and the cup, taking her hand and squeezing it so that her eyes lift. When they meet, Rachel smiles understandingly, and the thought of the elderly couple still watching their laptop over on the couches prompts her to move her thumb gently along one of Quinn's fingers.

"I'll have you know that you are the farthest thing from a failure," Rachel insists, "You are going to _Yale_. You have had a successful high school career. You are so strong and all your hardships have made you even better; I'm incredibly blessed to even be friends with you, let alone having the potential for something more."

Slowly, with each word, that shine returns to Quinn's eyes, livening hazel. At the conclusion of her words, there is barely a few seconds before Quinn is pulling on Rachel's hand, sitting forward and brining their lips together. As soon as they touch, a spark shoots through Rachel's skin, sizzling in her chest and making her dizzy. It feels so nice to kiss Quinn, to hold her hand and feel her smooth skin beneath her thumb. She tastes the slight caramel on her tongue as it glides along hers, just briefly, and then they're breaking, sitting back. Quinn glances at the old couple but they are none the wiser, and Rachel glimpses the counter behind blonde hair where the baristas once stood now empty. Their kiss was in plain sight but still a secret.

Relaxing, an easy smile on her lips, Rachel's still tingling, Quinn doesn't remain in her seat long. She stands and rounds the table, coming to sit beside Rachel, her bare knee touching Rachel's thin stockings, her left arm slinging around Rachel and guiding her sit forward until that arm is around her ribs, holding her close to Quinn's side. A pale hand reaches over the table and slides the book in front of them, a noise of approval coming from Quinn's throat, and she opens to the first passage, smoothening right into reading a few lines and explaining her fascination with Oscar Wilde.

In comparison, Rachel is humming through her entire body at the close, casual seating they now have, just like the old couple. She can smell Quinn's light perfume and feels her hair tickle the side of her face. She can hear her breathe and listens when she explains the diction of Wilde's writing. Her left hand, suspended by the arm held up between Rachel's small body and the back of the booth, brushes her side, her thumb nail running over the material of her sweater. On instinct, Rachel raises her right hand to hold Quinn's, meeting fingers that readily hold hers. Her left hand, beneath her right arm, grabs the edge of the book to bring into their laps and help keep open for Quinn to read. After a few moments of aimlessly scanning the page of words while Quinn actually reads, she speaks again, talking more about the passage she has read before and recounting what she thought the first time. Only half of Rachel is listening and the other focuses on just sitting with Quinn, watching her lips move and seeing that shine in her eyes when she glances at Rachel from the book.

Rachel can't imagine being anywhere else and that's where they stay until their phones say it's five in the afternoon and the snow has let up, revealing a winter wonderland that has turned their murky Lima town into something magical. Rachel calls Puck and he promises to be out there as soon as he can clear the driveway and uncover his truck, and while they wait, a snowplow thankfully trudges and struggles through the street, creating new curbs of feet tall snow. Quinn gets up to order some pastries and more hot coffee and they have their supper, still waiting on Puck. When he finally arrives an hour later, they throw on their coats and run out in the blistering cold to the passenger side, clambering in to a heated cab and Puck's delighted face at seeing them together. Quinn sees the slightest shiver from Rachel and again, wraps an arm around her waist, holding her close. Rachel's eyes droop and she rests her head on Quinn's shoulder as Puck makes his way slowly through streets until they unfortunately reach Quinn's house. He tells her to hand over her car keys and he will get Quinn's car and put on spare tire chains. Before she leaves the cab, she turns and hugs Rachel tightly, thanking her in her ear for a wonderful date and they will see each other tomorrow. Rachel beams and says her goodbye, watching Quinn run up to her house and inside before Puck pulls her over and lets her lean her head on his shoulder, falling asleep on the way back to her home, the beginning of her dreams consisting of a certain blonde and snow.

* * *

_December 27__th__, 2012 — 11:27 a.m._

* * *

The first thing Rachel does when she wakes up is grab her phone from beside her. It's near dead, the light dimmed and a warning popped up on her screen, but in the notification bar, a envelop standing for a message waits. Smiling and blinking her sleepiness away, she pulls down the bar to reveal three messages.

The first is from her fathers. They give her a quick update on their adventures on their cruise, saying things like "wish you were here" and "you would love their karaoke bar!" Rachel chuckles and types out a quick good morning message, telling them about the weather and watching her _Friends_ boxset with Puck. The next message is from Kurt. He and Blaine are trying to make plans for New Year's and after the "rather surprisingly spectacular Christmas party" he wonders if Rachel will be hosting another for New Year's. It gives all the more reason to host another party even if she doesn't want to have to do the last minute clean up and restocking of drinks before her fathers arrive, but too many pros outweigh the cons and she just sends back a message that says she will keep them updated.

Finally, the last one is from Quinn. Rachel plays with her lip between her index and thumb finger as she opens the message.

_I had an amazing date. I hope you sleep well. Call me if you'd like to do anything tomorrow._

Glancing at the little clock at the corner of her screen, she reads the late hour and berates herself for letting her sleeping habits slack off. She blames all the weather and events that have been happening every day and the fact it's winter break, but to make up for it, she jumps out of bed. She doesn't remember leaving the truck so she guesses that Puck carried her upstairs last night and just put her to bed in what she had been wearing. Finding some work-out clothes, she changes quickly and hops onto her elliptical, putting the timer on for forty-five minutes, extra time to make up for recent lost exercise.

An hour later and Rachel is stepping from her shower, rubbing a towel in her long hair with the other wrapped around snugly beneath her arms. She moves to her window and looks out through the curtains, seeing the fresh snow in all its grandeur. The sky is overcast, with only a little bit of light illuminating the white of the snow of her yard that has yet to be disrupted by the children of the neighborhood. She smiles softly and searches through her dresser for any other sweatpants she can wear before she has to do her laundry. With the last pair, she dresses and pulls on a t-shirt over her plain bra.

If Puck had brought her up to bed last night, how could he have left without locking the doors to the house? The thought pops into her head and she pivots away from the stairs, moving for her parents' bedroom. They have a guest room but Puck likes to think of himself more than a guest, and the only times he ever stays the night are the nights when her fathers are out for a couple days, which means he has their bed to themselves. He can't help it and no one can really— they have an amazing mattress that just feels like a cloud and puts you out like a baby as soon as you lie down.

Sure enough, upon opening the door a sliver, she can see Puck sleeping, his chest falling and rising steadily beneath the covers, his head turned away from the door. Unlike most men she knows, Puck's snore is just quiet enough to not be heard from her room. She smirks at the noise now, wondering just what makes up every man for them all to snore. Shutting the door just as quietly, she heads downstairs and into her thankfully clean kitchen. She scavenges the refrigerator and cupboard, coming up with not much.

"Puck'll just have to do with cereal," she mutters happily to herself as she pulls out Cap'n Crunch for the boy and some special bran for her.

"What, no bacon?"

Puck saunters into the kitchen in just his boxers, rubbing his eye with his fist and then running a hand over the rather long stripe of hair atop his head.

Rachel chuckles. "Nope. Tired of cooking. Deal with it."

"Ugh, fine," Puck pretends to whine, falling into a chair, "I'll go home later today and find some vegan crap recipes to cook dinner for you one of these nights."

"How sweet," Rachel faux coos, leaning over to slide a bowl of cereal across the table. Puck catches the bowl before it goes off the edge and stands to grab two jugs of milk from the fridge, one regular and the other soy. Rachel joins him as he sits and takes her soy milk, pouring it over her bran.

"You and Q gonna hang today?" the mostly naked boy asks, sniffing and shoveling a spoonful into his mouth.

"I was thinking of a late lunch or early dinner," Rachel admits with a shrug, "We could watch a movie even."

"Does she like musicals?" Puck bounces his spoon as he chews.

"I have other movies than musicals, Noah."

"But do you ever watch them?"

"… no. But if Quinn doesn't want to watch one, I can deal with watching something else," Rachel huffs, having a spoonful of her cereal.

Puck laughs. "Likely. Rachel Berry and the chance to watch a movie but not a musical? What a joke."

"Noah," Rachel snaps, swatting him in the arm. He laughs. "Why are you even awake? I wasn't that loud."

"Jew senses," he replies like it's a fact.

"Why did you even stay the night? You could have borrowed a key," Rachel points out.

"One, I need to put chains on your tires. Granted, I only have two so I'll catty-corner them on your car. Two, I couldn't leave you alone. Three, mom is out with the sis for some shopping so it didn't matter to her what I'm doing. Four, free bed."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel takes the last couple bites of her cereal and drinks most of her soy milk. She stands, setting the bowl in the sink to be washed when she feels like it, and faces the football player as he pours more cereal into his used milk. _Boys._

"What are we going to do about the alcohol?" Rachel asks, remembering the mostly empty liquor cabinet in the show-room basement.

"I had a couple guys who could help me out come to the Christmas party so I didn't have to owe them," he replies, "While you're spending the day with Quinn, I'll be out and running errands to start on restocking. Which reminds me; what are we doing about New Year's?"

Thinking back to the text from Kurt, Rachel almost says for Puck to go for it and plan the party. But then it hits her and she remembers what Puck said Christmas morning when Quinn and she realized their feelings. New Year's is to be the night when they decide what they want, and really, the decision is all up to Quinn. They both know Rachel would jump at the chance to be together and with a family like she has; she would have all the support and love she needs to face any harassment for dating another girl. Quinn on the other hand has to choose to either defy or bend to her family's will and their irrefutable thirst to be the perfect family with the most reputation in little Lima, Ohio. New Year's night is going to be when Quinn kisses her or walks away, the latter option being to remain friends with a distinct history. To be honest, Rachel doesn't think she could look Quinn directly in the eye again, or at least for a while, if the decision is to remain friends. She doesn't think she'll have the strength to resist kissing her or crying in front of her because of what they could have had. All this just makes her realize how scared she really is.

"Let me think about it and I'll have something by tonight, okay?" Rachel says, knowing she had thought for a few moments too long and Puck is staring at her curiously. He gives her a tight-lipped smile, like he knows the reason behind her need to think, and nods, standing as he finishes off drinking his milk.

"She'll make the right decision, Rache," Puck comforts, setting the bowl in the sink behind her. Her holds the side of her face and pecks her forehead, smiling for real now. "I'm going to go shower and get dressed, then put chains on your tires."

Rachel nods, thankful to have someone like Puck in her life who can be such a great friend that he's like a brother. He pats her shoulder and walks off back upstairs, leaving Rachel to take a breather in the kitchen to collect herself.

* * *

A phone call shouldn't be so nerve wracking… but it is. Rachel gnaws on the edge of a fingernail as the second ring echoes from her phone and the thought that maybe Quinn won't answer passes by before she rejects it. Quinn wants to see her just as much as she wants to see Quinn. Hopefully—

"Hi," comes Quinn cheery voice, much louder than the last they had been on the phone.

"Hi," Rachel repeats, stifling a squeal as she takes her hand away from her mouth.

"How are you?" She can practically hear Quinn's smile.

"I'm doing great, thank you. Uhm, I was just wondering if you're busy for dinner tonight?"

"Magically, no," Quinn says, and there's a hint behind her voice like she has something to do with the "magic" of being free to spend the evening with Rachel. Rachel has to put a hand over her chest at the flutter of what seems to be a hummingbird instead of what should be her heart.

"What if I made us something and we watch a movie afterwards?" Rachel bites a little on her lip.

"That would be wonderful," Quinn accepts graciously, a little laugh at the end, "When would you like me to arrive?"

"Whenever you'd like," Rachel fires back, grinning from ear to ear to be spending another part of the day with the blonde.

"I'll be over soon. Mind if I just wear some jeans?"

Rachel laughs. "You could wear a jumpsuit and still look spectacular." Immediately, she wants to kick herself for sounding so lame and puts her fist to her forehead, closing her eyes.

"You're biased," is Quinn's reply along with another laugh, "I just don't want to look like I don't care."

"I'll wear jeans to make you feel comfortable," Rachel says, sighing internally for the reaction she got from her poor compliment.

"Great," Quinn laughs, "I'll see you soon."

Rachel hangs up and again, her excitement bubbles through in the way she throws her arms in the air and she twirls in her room. She wants to just flop down on her bed and bask in the feeling of pure bliss but she knows she needs to get dressed and find something to prepare before Quinn comes over, and there isn't a lot of time from the sounds of it. She trots to her dresser and fishes out some jeans to slip on, her t-shirt fine to wear. She moves to the mirror, playing with her hair until it's satisfactory, and touches up with a little bit of makeup. The general idea of this is to be casual and too much makeup is not part of it.

Running downstairs, she looks through the frosted window beside the door to make sure Quinn isn't already here and pauses when she sees just how snowed over the world looks. Banks rise up on either side of the road from the snowplows. Her driveway is mostly cleared and she can just make out patches of salt, the care of Puck no less. That caring boy. Heading back into the kitchen, she opens the fridge and hums to herself as she browses, looking for something that she could make for the both of them and still be delicious. Maybe she's putting too much thought into this because really, she wants to make something big, like a gourmet meal, but then again, it's supposed to be casual.

Hoping it'll help calm her nerves and then decide what to make, she grabs a glass and fills it with some water from the tap, taking a grateful drink. She has honestly begun to believe that a hummingbird resides inside her ribcage where her heart should be because it's always thrumming, beating to the point where she thinks it could be palpable. She takes another drink and sets the glass behind her, making her way to the pantry to see if there's anything there that she could prepare.

It's been ten minutes and Rachel is sitting at the table, a little put out by the lack of choices to cook, though she should already know from checking earlier this morning. She's working on her second glass of water, tapping her chin, when there's knocking at the door. Her heart jumps to her throat as she jumps from her seat.

When she opens the door, it's like seeing Quinn for the first time. Actually, it's seeing a different part of Quinn for the first time. She's wearing a simple pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt against the cold, which doesn't seem to be doing much as she shivers, shoulders hunched in. Upon seeing Rachel, she grins and is waved inside, gladly doing so.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel starts, raising her hand to her mouth again to gnaw on her nail, "I tried to find something to make for us to eat but I just haven't been myself lately and I couldn't find anything—"

"Rachel, it's fine," Quinn laughs, turning around from pulling her shoes off beside the coat rack, "We were supposed to go out for lunch yesterday and ended up stuck, just having coffee instead."

Her words have the affect Rachel was searching for and she smiles, feeling color appear on her cheeks. They both move into the kitchen, Rachel back to the fridge.

"What if we just ordered something?" Quinn asks, having seated herself. When Rachel peers over her shoulder, she has to swallow because Quinn has taken off her sweatshirt and is wearing a t-shirt as well, except a little more form fitting.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like?" Rachel finds herself saying, straightening and moving to the drawer where she had gotten the Chinese menu for Puck and Sam Christmas Eve. She opens it to find a crushed beer can inside, completely empty thankfully, but the only thing Rachel can think of now is that she has to go through each drawer and nook and cranny in her house to make sure all evidence of the damn party is gone. Sighing, she takes the can and throws it in the trash beneath the sink, to be taken out later. Quinn chuckles behind her.

"What menus do you have?" she asks, suddenly much closer. Rachel starts, looking up to see Quinn hovering just behind her and looking into the drawer. At the motion, her hazel eyes flick to the brunette, a sly smirk coming to her lips at knowing her close presence could do such things. "It's just me, Rache."

"I know," Rachel chokes out, looking back to the drawer to hide her blush and to do something with her hands, "You just surprised me is all. I thought you were sitting."

"Now I'm standing," the blonde whispers, her mouth much closer to Rachel's ear. A hand snakes around her waist, pulling her close. Rachel can feel the heat of her body and takes her lips between her teeth to stop any noise she might make. Flirty Quinn is dangerous for Rachel. It makes her want to kiss her and touch her and do things that she can't remember from the night of the party, but are both aware were done. She can feel an ache begin in her stomach and she feigns believing it's just hunger. She needs to satiate Quinn right now before things get much farther, and without another thought, she whirls around and wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her to her lips.

It's like Quinn was expecting this because she doesn't miss a second and she pushes Rachel against the counter, the drawer shutting with a snap. Their lips meld together perfectly like yesterday, but with more urgency and pent-up desire for one another. A tongue is quick to ask for entrance, only to be granted and met with another that resists, seeking dominance. Quinn's hand on her waist tightens, fingers digging through the thin material of the shirt. Rachel's hands clasp onto the other arm's elbow, locking Quinn against her so that her lips won't part for a second. Another hand glides across the fabric of Rachel's shirt, fingers spread and palm flat, until it's between her shoulder blades and pressing their fronts together. Electricity shoots through Rachel, making the ache in her abdomen burn lower between her legs and she knows this wasn't what she was hoping for. They have just begun to spend time together and they were already back to where they were that drunken night.

Rachel breaks, her arms flying back and her hands hitting the counter top to support her as she leans away from Quinn's mouth, taking a much needed breath. Quinn understands, like she knew what Rachel is doing, but doesn't move from leaning over the brunette's small body. Her hand on the girl's back is now on the countertop as well, keeping her from leaning any farther, while the hand on Rachel's hip still clings, like she needs to stay grounded. Her hazel eyes are darkened but not completely, hooded but still opened and staring at Rachel's flushed face. Slowly, she leans closer again, and Rachel doesn't move. Lips ghost lips and shape words.

"Sorry," Quinn says, her voice hardly audible, "I couldn't help myself."

"Neither could I," Rachel practically whimpers back, eyes closing against her will at the feel of teasing skin against her mouth.

"I'm not very hungry," those lips skim, "How about that movie?"

Rachel nods, only serving to touch mouths with Quinn briefly and that same spark as always sizzles across her lips. "That sounds nice."

Almost regrettably, Quinn takes a step back with a breath, and then she gives a kind smile. She easily wipes away her lustful expression, putting another more content one. Rachel marvels at the ability Quinn has always had to mask any emotion or manipulate others into believing what she may or may not be expressing. She has done this at school, almost like a power she has over the student body, and Rachel has only been on the receiving end a couple times, always falling victim to whatever purpose that angelic face presented. She knows now that it isn't some power trip for Quinn. She's being real with her, her expression genuine. She isn't manipulating because never before has Rachel seen that shine in her eyes that she has when she looks at her.

Quinn offers her hand and Rachel takes it, walking together into the living room. Rachel at least had most of her head to decide which movies they could watch before she went about her fruitless search for dinner. On the coffee table are a couple cases, up to Quinn to choose which to watch.

As Quinn is looking at each one, Rachel moves to the lights and dims them. The blonde looks up and Rachel gives a sheepish look.

"Is this alright?" she asks.

"Perfectly," Quinn purrs from the couch. The things that voice does to Rachel… she has to stop a shiver from rolling down her spine. She nears the couch and Quinn holds up a movie, _Scream_. Rachel's fathers are horror movie nuts and she most often times refuses to watch one with them, not wanting nightmares to wake her up screaming and then getting a hoarse voice. They assure her many times that she won't lose her voice in that way but she has always politely declined their offers. Now, she really has no choice. Why did she pull this movie out?

_Maybe a part of you wants to be scared around Quinn._ She shakes her head, moving to the DVD player and setting up the TV.

Once it's ready to be played, Rachel faces Quinn, the blonde sitting relaxed on the couch with the remote in hand and ready to play. She lifts a brow questioningly, her signature move of course, and Rachel walks over, a little jittery. She sits awkwardly besides her, not knowing the protocol for this either, but Quinn isn't having it and she grabs her hand, pulling her close.

"I won't jump you again," Quinn jokes, bringing her arm overhead to wrap around Rachel's ribs like she has always done. Rachel feels protected as such and she loves when Quinn takes the initiative in ways that Rachel isn't exactly sure how. She has always been with men up until she realized she wanted Quinn, and it's different with girls. She gets the idea that women need to be seduced and have romance, or at least that's what she wants. So far, Quinn has been doing a pretty good job…

Turning, she presses a kiss to the blonde's cheek, smiling at the pleasantly surprised face.

"Thank you," Rachel says, meaning it entirely.

"For what?" Quinn asks, the remote raised but the movie yet to be played.

"For… this," Rachel says, unable to really form words, "I know it's pathetic and not exactly the right words to use for what I'm feeling… I just never thought I would be in this kind of… situation."

"On a movie date?" Quinn inquires, smirking. She squeezes Rachel closer, the girl settling alongside the former cheerleader. "You're beautiful, Rachel. You should have had plenty of movie dates."

At her words, Rachel looks down, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear shyly. She doesn't look up when she clarifies, "I mean, this whole thing with you. I never thought my feelings for you were the kind that could ever be reciprocated."

There's a moment of silence and Rachel fears she has said the wrong thing, which keeps her from meeting Quinn's eyes. Suddenly, she feels lips against her temple, lingering, just touching her there.

"Neither did I," Quinn murmurs. She hits play.

Just the beginning of the movie is scary on its own and Rachel is already balled up, clutching Quinn's shirt as the masked murderer runs through the house while Drew Barrymore, or Casey, sneaks along outside. The tension is already so high and she can't understand why they would start a movie like that. Shouldn't they ease their audience into the plot?

Laughter rings beside her and Quinn is watching her instead of the movie. She takes Rachel's hand, prying it from her shirt, and holds it, even letting Rachel squeeze it as Casey looks through the window for the second time and the ghost mask whirls around, the girl screaming. Rachel lurches, squeaking in order to keep from screaming, and Quinn giggles, her hand on Rachel's ribs sliding down to hold her waist and stop her from moving in her seat.

The movie goes on to a real plot and Rachel can calm down. She takes a deep breath, a little scarred at the sight of the body tied up by its intestines and hanging from the tree.

"Enjoying the movie?" Quinn teases, squeezing Rachel's hip.

"No," Rachel pouts, "I never watch horror movies."

Quinn gasps. "I _love_ horror movies. How could you not watch them?"

"Because they make me scream and I need my voice because if I can't sing then I have nothing to live for."

"You have me," Quinn counters immediately and Rachel faces her abruptly, surprised by her words. Quinn's face is serious, meaning what she said is too. She isn't quite sure how to process the meaning of it all when Quinn's mouth is on hers again and she doesn't want to worry about anything. Nothing but Quinn. She kisses her back just as hard as she is being kissed, something different than what unfolded in the kitchen. It has more meaning than just bottled want after growing feelings. It's a catalyst of what could be and what Rachel is now sure what Quinn means.

_She is going to pick me._

* * *

_December 28__th__, 2012 — 12:00 p.m._

* * *

It isn't knocking at Rachel's front door. It's pounding… or kicking. Still chewing some of her tofu breakfast, she opens the door curiously only to have to dodge to the side as Puck darts inside. In his arms he holds a couple brown paper bags and he has no shoes on, the reason for wanting to get inside as quick as possible, considering there was a light dusting last night and no one has yet to clear the new inch of snow in the driveway.

"Where are your shoes?" Rachel asks, shutting the door and following Puck into the kitchen.

Dumping the bags onto the table, muffled clattering coming from the contents, he shivers and shrugs off his coat. "I forgot."

"Forgot? Where?"

"Uhm… at a house," he provides reluctantly, reaching into one of the bags and taking out a labeled bottle of alcohol. He pulls a list from his jean pocket, folded many times over and the pen ink a little smeared, and finds another pen in one of Rachel's drawers.

Stepping close, Rachel grabs his arm and stops him. He freezes, looking down into her eyes, and she leans in slowly, sniffs the collar of his shirt, and scoffs.

"You had sex last night!"

"Ew, you can smell that?" he asks, lifting the collar of his shirt and smelling. Though he doesn't seem able to smell what Rachel did, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then unbuckles and jerks off his jeans. Once again, for the third time, Puck is standing in just his boxers in Rachel's kitchen. She rolls her eyes.

"Okay, so I did," he starts, now that he's been caught, "I went this guy's party last night so I could pick up the alcohol he said he would give for the rager we had here. I got sidetracked by his dancers."

"Dancers?" Rachel exclaims, peering over the list of alcohols that Puck must restock. Only a couple is crossed off.

"Fine, he is a bartender at a strip club," Puck sighs, taking back the list and using the pen to cross off the first bottle he pulled out of a bag, "At least I got the drinks."

"What are you going—" _to do when you get a girl pregnant?_ is what Rachel is about to scold with when she remembers he already has. Even if the sentence is left hanging not even half way completed, Puck turns his gaze towards Rachel, knowing what she was about to reprimand.

In reality, if it weren't for Puck becoming a father to Quinn's child, he wouldn't be the sort of guy today. It gave him a taste of his own medicine. It gave him a responsibility his father never did and that's all the encouragement he needs to be the best father he can to Beth. Rachel wouldn't say it made him humble, last night being a prime example, but it did give the hard-ass football player Noah "Puck" Puckerman a chink in his armor and a reason to feel. Rachel should thank Beth because without her, she doubts she would have such a best friend to begin with.

And what Rachel was about to ask is insensitive but true. This sort of thing has happened before and just like last time, Puck sobers up. He isn't mad or hurt. He just knows that his habits aren't the kind that should be encouraged. His father was and probably still is that way and it's where he gets it from. If he doesn't want to end up a fuck-up like his father, he can't show that he really is his son. Taking another bottle from a bag with a new air of responsibility, he crosses off a name on his list and continues.

Stepping closer, Rachel puts a soothing hand on his shoulder and stands on her tiptoes. She presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, saying everything for her without actual words transgressing between them. He smiles softly.

Since Puck is busy with inside chores, and Rachel has already had her workout, shower, and breakfast, she decides to take on the task of clearing the driveway. She dresses in a suitable amount of layers, snow boots, a scarf and hat, and grabs the shovel from the gardening shed. Seeing how much has built up on her back patio before she leaves her back yard, she turns and shoves the tool into the couple feet tall snow, grunting as she throws it over her shoulder. She works under a cool gray sky, a gentle breeze tickling her cheeks and wafting through the hair on her back, not beneath her knit hat. She blinks at the seemingly dry air, lifting, heaving, impaling, lifting, heaving, impaling. It takes a good half hour but she manages to clear what seems to be a dugout for the back porch.

The sliding door opens and Puck, wrapped in a thick blanket, pokes his head out.

"I'm doing laundry. Want me to just put your basket in your room?"

"Yes, thank you!" Rachel says a bit breathlessly.

"Hey, don't worry about this," Puck says, gesturing with a sweep of his blanket, "I can clear some of the backyard before the New Year's party."

"Okay, I'll do the front drive," she says, flinging the last shovelful over her shoulder and then resting the wooden shaft against her shoulder. She takes a deep breath, feeling a bit hot, and unravels her scarf a little. Puck chuckles.

"You got some strength for a little girl," he comments.

Rachel laughs. "Singing isn't my only strength. I have taken many dance classes and part of being a dancer is having the muscle to preform difficult maneuvers and routines."

"Yeah, yeah, you're strong and all… for a _girl_." Puck lifts up his bare arm from beneath the blanket and curls, flexing his bicep. The muscle bulges, looking much like the beginning of a body builder, and he smile crookedly, his proud smile. While he's too busy admiring his own arm, Rachel balls a snowball and chucks it his chest, hitting him right on the collarbone. He swears, hits his head on the door trying to duck back inside before the next hit, and finally shuts the door, giving Rachel a playful and very kind finger gesture. He wipes the melting snow from his chest with the blanket as he stalks away, Rachel's laughter ringing in the noon air.

* * *

Another hour and the driveway is cleared. Another snowplow came by, pushing build-up from last night and slush to the curbs, revealing sheets of ice here and there that as soon as the giant machinery was gone, kids began grabbing trash can lids and having each other pull them across. Rachel thought it was dangerous but Puck came outside just before she scold them and brought her back inside.

"Are you going to see Quinn today?" he asks, filling a mug of black coffee and jumping up to sit on a counter. He has finished his restocking for the most part, just a couple more bottles to put back in place with plenty of time. He wears his jeans now, the first load of laundry he has done.

"I don't know," Rachel admits from the front hall, hanging her slightly damp winter clothes. She walks into the kitchen and pours a small cup of coffee for herself, using organic ingredients to flavor her drink. "I don't like the idea of her driving in this weather, with the ice. Plus there's children in the streets and I don't want to have an accident."

Puck laughs. "You worry too much. Quinn is capable of driving herself over; she has chains on her tires. I also highly doubt she would hit a kid on a trashcan. They are hard to miss. If it really bothers you, I will go get her myself. The truck is better for this weather anyways."

"No, no, you're right," Rachel submits, leaning against the counter and taking a drink, "She could drive. I'm just overthinking."

"As usual."

"At least I don't _under_-think."

"I do _not_."

Rachel hums, smiling as she takes another drink. "What do you have planned for today?"

"The downstairs is still a little dirty, thought I might clean that up?"

"Might I add that I found a beer can in the take-out menus drawer? I suggest checking other places our friends have left paraphernalia from the party."

"Well, fuck," Puck states, taking a big drink from his mug and setting it down. He hops off the counter and bends, being so tall, to begin quickly searching through each drawer and cupboard. He does the entire kitchen in a couple of minutes, finding some wrappers.

Grumbling and throwing the trash beneath the sink, he asks, "When will Quinn be over? I could clean until she comes and get out of your guys' hair."

"I'm not sure, I haven't talked to her yet," Rachel shrugs, looking to the clock above the doorway to the front hall and reading 2:24.

"How are things going by the way?" he asks, grabbing his drink again.

Rachel feels a blush and fights to control it. "Good, I think."

"Ha! You're under-thinking!" Puck suddenly points at Rachel and then prods her in the neck, where she feels heat rising quicker than she was fighting it, "It's _great_, isn't it? Have you guys kissed? Have you talked about the party? Oh, I bet it gets you two all hot and bothered—"

A punch to the arm cuts his sentence off and he laughs. By now, Rachel is full on blushing and pouting, trying keep a smile from her mouth at just how great it actually is between them and how much she hopes they can keep going this way.

"I'll go clean now!" he says, nearly bouncing on the spot. He swigs the last of his coffee, still hot, and sets it in the sink. He bounds out of the room and down the stairs, whooping and making crude cat-calls.

Fanning herself, she puts her mostly empty mug in the sink beside his and moves upstairs. In her room, she crosses to her nightstand and picks up her phone, finding no messages, just a couple app updates. Opening a new message, she types, _What are your plans for today? :)_ and presses send after selecting Quinn's name.

It doesn't take long and Quinn's reply bleats on her phone.

_Just got back from an awful family lunch. Did I tell you Frannie's in town?_

Rachel frowns._ Why was it awful?_

_ They hardly spoke to me. They talked with Frannie the entire time, about college and her job interview. The only time they really said anything to me was just a piece of advice to strive to be more like my sister. Like, what I do is not enough. Frannie tried to give me a pity-talk for them but when I told her to not worry about it, my dad told me to listen and take every word into account. I'm sorry, I must sound like a bitch._

At the swear word, Rachel understands just how upset Quinn really is._ There's nothing to apologize for, Quinn. You could tell me anything and not have to apologize for it. I'm sorry they acted that way towards you. They fail to see the Quinn I see._

It takes a minute, and then her message appears,_ What do you see?_

Rachel takes a breath, collecting her thoughts. Her thumbs hover the touchpad keys, waiting to type what words cannot begin to describe how much she truly feels and what she sees, but she has to provide something, so she starts._ I see Quinn Fabray. A beautiful, talented, brilliant, and incredibly strong young woman. People admire you because you walk these halls after all these years, still owning the school, your back straight even with all your hardships on your shoulders. You are a role model, a person people can look up to, and you will go to an amazing college, have the perfect career, and get the family you deserve. A family of your own. _On another thought,_ And even if I'm not the one to create that perfect family with, I will be so happy that you are finally happy. You will prove your parents and sister wrong, show them that you are better than all the rest of Lima, Ohio. Because you are Quinn Fabray._

Rachel sends the message without a bit of hesitance. She feels what she has said is the truth, and she even rereads it to make sure she made her point. When a couple minutes pass and there isn't a message back, Rachel doesn't allow herself to worry. Instead, she stands to clean her room, a few things out of order about the place. She hopes by doing this it isn't some outlet for a worrying feeling she should feel, but again, she forces herself to not overthink this and goes into her bathroom, picking up her shower towel from this morning and folding it over the drying rack. She's cleaning her sink when her phone beeps.

_Could I stay the night tonight?_

The last time they spent together… well, it makes Rachel's pulse race. She licks her lips at bits of memories showing through the drunk veil, and suddenly, she remembers her lips placing open-mouthed kisses down a flat stomach, flexing with anticipation, slick with a thin sheen of sweat, her hands pressing into naked hips, keeping them down.

A knock on her door interrupts her little daydream and she jumps.

"Room service!" Puck's fake high-pitched voice comes through the door.

Sucking in a deep breath to calm the beat that began low in her stomach, she stands, runs a hand through her hair, and opens the door. Outside, Puck holds a basket of clothes, sloppily folded. The look on her face must be one that Puck isn't expecting because his smile drops and his eyebrows pull together.

"Everything okay?"

Are they? "Yes, I'm okay," Rachel says, taking the basket and turning to put it on the end of her bed. While Puck can't see her face, she thinks of Quinn and her ability to put on any face she wants, as well as her future as an actress, and turns with a little smile.

Puck shrugs and smiles. "So, talked to Quinn yet?"

"Actually, yes. She's going to come over later tonight." She leaves out the part about her staying the night because she'd rather not have Puck jumping her for details like a hyper puppy.

"Sweet," he says, winking, "Want me to leave?"

"Have another party you can finish your list of alcohols with?" Rachel counters.

"You bet your sweet ass I do!" he says, like in some way, Rachel gave him permission to go have fun, "I'll finish around the house and then head out, okay?"

"No problem," Rachel chuckles. Puck grabs her into a hug, whisper something crass into her ear, earning a "Noah!" and runs off. With a roll of her eyes, she shuts the door to her bedroom again.

Back to her phone on her bed, the message from Quinn still waits to be answered. Again, her thumbs wait to press keys, and without thinking at all, she lets them.

_I would love for you to._

It doesn't take long and, _Could I come over around 7?_

_ Whatever is convenient for you. You're allowed over whenever you want._

Okay, she can't help it this time. It's snowing again and it's 7:13. Quinn still isn't here yet. Since Puck left and her text messages with Quinn, she has gone through her house several times, making sure everything is in order and there is nothing left from the Christmas party. Now that she thinks about it, that party was way out of hand. There was way too many people, if by everything they left was any clue. From the looks of it, half the school came, and then some. By some, Rachel means Puck's friends and most them aren't in school anymore, for whatever reasons.

Looking through the frost-decorated window again, there is no sign of Quinn's car, no headlights in the darkening street, and no recent tread marks in the slight snow covering. Biting the inside of her lip, she moves into the living room, puts in a _Friends_ disk, and settles down to watch and calm her frayed nerves. She has a drink at her side and a blanket wrapped around her legs, watching as Joey takes a spoonful of hot jam from Monica's kitchen, puts it in his mouth against her warning, and then spits it right back out because it _is_ hot. Chuckling, she feels the tension ease off her.

* * *

Sharp raps on her front door startle her from a doze. Sitting forward, she glances at her phone in hand, spotting three missed calls. Berating herself for nearly falling asleep, she runs to the front door and flings it open.

Quinn stands on her front porch, looking quite sullen but at the sight of Rachel, a smile breaks across her face. In her hands is a small overnight bag, her keys, and phone. Her cheeks and nose are a little red and Rachel wants to cry for having left her out in the cold for God knows how long.

"I am _so_ sorry," Rachel starts, reaching forward to take Quinn's bag from her hand. The blonde lets her take it from her as she steps inside, her smile growing wider. "I started falling asleep."

"It's alright," Quinn says, watching Rachel put her bag on the steps to be carried up later, "There was a wreck in the middle of Lima."

Rachel whirls around, her eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

Quinn chuckles lightly. "Yes, I am. I was just backed up in traffic until the two cars could be towed away. I just felt bad for being a little later than I had wanted."

"Thank God it wasn't you," Rachel mutters appreciatively. She isn't exactly sure why but she blushes anyways, her tone and her words conveying just how worried she had been and how much she just wants Quinn to be safe and in her arms.

"Me too," Quinn says, her eyes shining even in the dim hallway. She takes a step forward and brings her hand to Rachel's, letting her fingers graze along the tanned ones, feeling them as they slide through hers until they link perfectly. Rachel's eyes have fallen to their hands, watching, and then lift to see Quinn still gazing at her face. Her look speaks volumes and it's all Rachel needs to know that Quinn truly likes her, that this is no elaborate game, no manipulation; a true, pure connection has formed between them and strengthens with every touch, every meeting, every shining of eyes.

An idea comes to mind and Rachel glances at the window. The snow is still falling and it has become dark enough for the street lights to flicker on, casting ethereal yellow rays through the snowflakes. She remembers their shared interest in snow, in the wonder of winter and the lovely way they both enjoy everything becoming so magical when it would normally seem bleak. Reaching behind Quinn with her free hand, she grabs her coat, wordlessly waiting for approval, and a moment later, Quinn is turning to grab her coat as well.

Dressed, Rachel grabs her keys and opens the front door, revealing again the cold that Quinn had been standing in. Having not finished her apology, Rachel turns to the girl just behind her and wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her close but not quite kissing her. She touches noses, feeling just how chilly Quinn's is, and giggles softly.

"I'm sorry for leaving you out in the cold and I never will again," she whispers.

Quinn hums and her next words are ones that have been sitting in her chest, in her heart, for years. "You're worth the wait. You always have been."

Before Rachel can react or respond, Quinn tilts her head, pressing lips. She kisses Rachel like it's their first time with that same spark, and hopefully the same spark that will stay there for years and years to come. Because it's the spark that has been sitting on Quinn's lips just for Rachel, just for Rachel since the first time she laid eyes on her, since the first time she heard that angelic voice, and especially since the first time she knew she was falling for that crazy, sometimes annoying, and always correct brunette that makes her heart swell, her breath missing, and her mind reeling.

* * *

It has been a near hour of walking aimlessly through the snow-laden streets. Not another person has been seen, not a car has attempted to drive the dangerous roads, and the snow has not stopped falling, ensuring that Quinn will stay the night with nowhere else to go.

Rachel prances a few paces in front of the blonde, arms open, eyes closed, head tilted back, tongue stuck out. Her laughter is the only noise to occasionally break the deafening silence, and every time, it makes Quinn's absent, adoring smile grow. While Rachel frolics, Quinn keeps a space between them to watch, loving every second of seeing pure happiness. As they pass under another scone of yellow light, stark contrast to the dim, white world, Rachel's even toned hair glows with different shades of her highlights. Quinn has never noticed the subtle auburn and slight dirty blonde locks to her hair, the lighting never giving her the chance. Now, she enjoys winter all the more for providing the circumstance to see this little detail about Rachel.

For the umpteenth time, Rachel spins and somehow manages to gracefully fall backwards onto the snow. Lying flat, she begins yet again another snow angel, sliding her arms and legs, her eyes flitting to Quinn.

"Quinn, will you _please_ make one with me?" Every time Rachel has made a snow angel, Quinn has kindly declined to join her. It's more out of wanting to watch Rachel than getting her clothes wet, but for some reason, Quinn playfully roll her eyes and exaggerates a sigh in defeat.

Falling beside Rachel, in the middle of the road, between street lights and in the darkest of the intervals, Quinn makes her first snow angel. She can't help giggle when Rachel attempts to cover her own, and after an appropriate amount of time, they both stand carefully, stepping out of their angels. It's obvious to tell who made which; Quinn's angel a tad taller than Rachel's. Their wings barely brush each other and Quinn hadn't noticed how close their hands had come to touching one another, or as close to touching as they can with their mittens on.

A mitten'd hand latches onto the blonde's, attracting her attention. Rachel gazes up at her, face alight, not a wrinkle to discern worry or upset or any negative emotion— just ecstasy. And Quinn brings it out of her. For once in her life, Quinn feels a bubble in her chest… a bubble of pride. She's proud because she has a purpose, one nobody but Rachel has given her, because she alone is able to bring out the unbridled joy from the little diva, one that Quinn has never seen brought about by Finn, an ex-boyfriend of the past, or her parents, or even Puck. In the presence of her parents, Quinn feels miniscule, that all she has accomplished in her high school career has amounted to nothing. Beside Rachel, she feels as though she can take on the world, so long as the girl she has come to love is with her.

She didn't mean for the next action to happen, she just wanted to hold her hand. But Rachel doesn't complain when Quinn leans down to press their lips together again. In fact, she takes her hand away to join the other as they are placed loosely on the blonde's shoulders, feeling the girl's arms pull her close in the familiar way they have come to wound around her waist. Kissing in snow fall is something new for both of them— the heat of their mouths is welcoming against the cold. They can feel snowflakes land and melt on the exposed skin of their faces, sending little ripples of electricity to intensify their kiss, and the absolute quiet pressures them to keep quiet, making their kiss that much more simple but all the more to be savored.

Breaking away slowly, Rachel feels a lingering affect, one that nearly causes her to blurt out three words but manages to swallow them. It's too soon. One cannot fall in love this quick. For a moment, she imagines having said those words aloud, to Quinn, and of all the different reactions she could have received. The prospect of some of them excite her, and then other frighten her, but overall, she's thankful she has said nothing.

Instead, "You're beautiful."

The reaction is immediate and makes Rachel giggle as she lifts one of her covered hands to nudge Quinn's chin back up as she began to timidly duck her head. Her cheeks are more red than they were from the cold and her eyes absolutely sparkle, the depth of the hazel easy to become lost in.

"I've been called that so many times," Quinn mutters, her eyes unwavering in Rachel's, "But it has never meant as much as it had coming from you."

_Maybe because I love you._

Again, the words are on the tip of her tongue but they remain there. Rachel smiles and puts a little distance between their bodies, her hand slipping down Quinn's jacketed arm to find her hand and take it.

"You're looking a little red," Rachel teases, taking a step and bringing Quinn along with her, "Maybe you need some hot chocolate to warm up with."

"Maybe I just need you," Quinn counters, a small smile on her lips. Rachel feels a tingle run down her spine, that smile seeming a little different than it was a moment ago. She giggles and continues to walk, Quinn keeping easy pace and a tight grip on her hand. They walk in comfortable silence, the snow falling against their backs now, and the beginning of melted snow in their clothes seeps through to chill the flesh beneath. Their boots make muffled crunches in the crisp fall and soft shades of light become stronger as they pass under another street light in the way they had come, back towards Rachel's house. They retrace their previous footsteps, drizzled over in the time since they made them.

It doesn't take long and they are walking up her drive again, the warm glimmering off the windows beckoning for them to come inside. Unlocking the front door, they move inside, kick off their boots, and shed their wet outwear.

"Did you bring clothes to change into?" Rachel asks, pulling the wet fabric of her long sleeved shirt from sticking to her elbow.

"Actually, yes," Quinn replies, grabbing her bag from the first step and climbing it, "Are you going to change?"

Rachel looks up to answer but the reply is lost in the look she finds staring at her. Quinn's face may seem blank but her eyes smolder in the dark. An entirely different mood settles in the air and a tremble reaches to her toes. Rachel nods and follows Quinn up the stairs, wondering if it's just her that feels the tension or if it was intentionally brought on.

A new problem arises as Rachel climbs behind Quinn. It's a problem of leering and there's not much she can do about it but accept that she's maybe a bit of a pervert for watching the way the ex-cheerleader's hips sway and how her ass fills her jeans appreciatively. Biting on her lips, Rachel only manages to take her eyes away once they reach the top and breathes a silent sigh of relief.

In her room, Rachel turns and shuts the door as Quinn places her bag on the end of the bed and opens the drawstring, taking a new shirt from inside. Rachel glances sidelong as she moves to her dresser, Quinn grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it up with a little difficulty, the wet patches of her shirt still sticking to her arms. Abandoning her dresser, Rachel steps over, her hands reaching to run up Quinn's arms. It might be her imagination but she thinks she felt a shiver run through the girl's body. Her fingers meet the wet material of her long sleeved shirt, peeling it away from her pale skin. A few assists later, and Quinn takes the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Rachel casts her eyes down before she can be lured into hazel but lands on the faint pink lines along a rather toned abdomen for one has given birth to a child. She lifts a finger to skim over a stretch mark, watching as goosebumps trail in the wake of her finger. A hand catches her wrist and she can't help but look up at Quinn's face, to see her reaction to her stomach being curiously touched. As soon as their eyes lock and Rachel has that second to register the intensity of darkening irises, their lips crush together. The spark is powerful, igniting the little tremble in Rachel's stomach into a fire. She doesn't mean to be aggressive but it comes out in the way her free hand flies up to seize a handful of soft, blonde hair.

Quinn moans, the vibration resonating past Rachel's mouth and to the center of her being. She's pushed backwards, her captured wrist rising above her head as her knees hit the end of her bed and she falls backwards, Quinn's body flat against hers with the thin obstacle of one shirt keeping from skin on skin contact. Even if this isn't their first time, Rachel feels like it is, the little snippets of the Christmas party not enough.

Like Quinn read her mind, her other hand grabs the hem of Rachel's shirt, tugging it up. Arching her back off the bed and pressing further into the blonde, earning another low moan, Rachel allows her shirt to be brought up over her chest before they have to break apart. The moment their mouths part, Quinn is tearing the shirt away. Hands freed, Rachel reaches up to grab Quinn's face and bring her lips back, hungry for the cool taste of her tongue after walking out in the snow.

They gasp in unison, their bare stomachs meeting in what truly justifies as the first time. The pause too long, Rachel wraps her arms around Quinn's neck. She moves her head beneath Quinn's chin, her mouth seeking skin along the neck she finds by kissing and then nipping. An arm slides beneath her head as Quinn props herself up. Her other hand tickles down Rachel's side, thumb brushing her hip bone and then pressing into the soft skin just inside it, just above the waist band of her jeans. The press shoots to Rachel's core, creating the dull throb there to quicken and result in a particular hard bite high up on Quinn's neck.

She groans and strangles out, "_Rachel…_"

"No marks?" Rachel husks the moment her lips scrape the blonde's ear. She runs her tongue along the shell, breathing as she does, the reply in Quinn's throat stuttering. "No promises."

It must be some kind of challenge because Rachel suddenly feels nails dig into her hip, enough to surely leave bruises. She gasps out and digs her own nails into shoulder blades, fingers catching on Quinn's bra. Without meaning to, Rachel pulls and somehow, the clasp of the bra pops open, the straps falling down Quinn's arms.

New urge, Rachel pushes back on Quinn's shoulders as her legs wrap around her waist, causing them to roll. Quinn falls back against the mattress and before she can make another move, Rachel leans down, moving her thigh between the girl's. Quinn takes a shuddering breath with the pressure against her center, and Rachel steals the gasp, taking Quinn's bottom lip between her teeth.

In a moment, Quinn pulls away her bra then trails her fingers up Rachel's ribs. She finds the clasps and unclasps it, her fingers then grazing across shoulder blades to grab the straps and take them down Rachel's arms. Discarding the item, Rachel pauses in her leaning position as she soaks in the sight of Quinn topless in the dim, blue-tinted light. She must've gazed too long because a new flush creeps up Quinn's chest, but to make up for it, Rachel ducks down and takes a proud nipple into her mouth. Reflexively, Quinn's hands tangle themselves in Rachel's long hair, her head tilting back as Rachel drags her tongue across her peak, her teeth following over tenderly. The transition between smooth and then rough causes Quinn to whimper, fingers undulating. Moving to her other breast, Rachel gives it the same attention, each whimper from Quinn serving a clench in her stomach. Her mind now a fog, she doesn't think when she takes her tongue and laves it down the subtle indention of Quinn's abs, leading to the waistband of her jeans. Her hands meet to quickly undo Quinn's jeans, nails scratching as they curl under the waistband and pull down, taking underwear with it, met with little resistance.

Rather than staring and wondering how someone can look so perfect and more for the sake of keeping Quinn from doubting herself, Rachel drifts her eyes up to Quinn's, locking as she moves forward and her tongue touches sweet folds. Quinn's breath hitches, her mouth dropping open, her brows furrowing, and Rachel swells with ego, her tongue delving down through the blonde's wetness, tasting her. A hand leaves her hair to ball up the sheets, the muscle in her bicep flexing with the force of her pull. Rachel snakes her tongue around, gliding back up to tease a sensitive bundle she knows aches for attention. The pleasure too much, Quinn breaks eye contact and throws her head back, letting a guttural groan from her open mouth. Rachel drags her teeth over her clit, back arching jerkily, and sliding her hand down a quivering thigh, doesn't wait for Quinn to adjust as she pumps two fingers in.

Already, her walls are tight and her legs envelop around her head, only one hand able to hold one away. Quinn's moans echo in the dark room, her noises heavenly to Rachel's ears and hell to her building desire. She thrusts her fingers fast with each beat of need she goes through, and it doesn't take long for her tempo to become so quick, so deep, and then stop because Quinn is crying out, crying out _her name_, and her muscles trap Rachel's hand. She's sure hair is being torn from her head but the pain somehow blossoms along her scalp as pleasure and her eyes close to enjoy the vibrations through her mouth, feeling Quinn ride out her orgasm.

Once she can move, Rachel removes her fingers and crawls up Quinn's body until she is hovering over her, the skin of their hips skimming one another. When she opens her eyes, Quinn moans absently at Rachel's full, glistening lips and then watches, mesmerized, as Rachel raises her two fingers and runs her tongue over them, sucking them of Quinn's juices. Licking her lips, Rachel leans down and tilts her head to kiss Quinn, smiling when Quinn moans at her own taste on the brunette's tongue.

Like the taste was a spur, Quinn surges up, rolling them. Air leaves Rachel's lungs with a huff as she's thrown to the mattress again. There's no sensual process as Quinn practically eye-fucks her while her fingers undo jeans and then pushes them down. Rachel kicks them away, lifting up to kiss Quinn, but catches air. A set of teeth sink into her neck, a cry erupting from her throat, and a thigh nestles against her bare center, grinding into her and sending shockwaves up to her ribs. Those teeth attack her neck, only a couple kisses in between to soothe marks she _feels_ rising, and that thigh is joined with fingers as two slide through her slit, scissoring against her clit and forcing out groans. Quinn's mouth thankfully moves to Rachel's ear and breathes hotly against it before speaking.

"I've had so many ideas about what I wanted to do to you," she utters, even her words moist, "I can't even _begin_ to tell you about the daydreams I've had during class."

With this new bit of information, of Quinn imagining fucking Rachel in the middle of school, Rachel whines.

"I've wanted you for _so_ long, it hurts," she continues, the emphasis in her words matching a particular grind of her thigh and slide of her finger, "I've wanted to have you bent over tables, or on a teacher's desk. I've wanted to fuck you in the showers when I'm cold and lonely and everyone's gone. I've wanted to fuck you so hard in a janitor's closet that when you leave, people know you just had amazing sex because you can't walk straight. And I've especially wanted you on those awful nights when I had to finger myself when you could have been the one doing _so_."

At the conclusion, she thrusts three fingers in. Rachel cries out, the hands on Quinn's back suddenly raking nails down her spine, hard enough that angry red welts will remain for days. Using her thigh against the back of her hand, she does as Rachel did and doesn't allow time to adjust. She begins a deep, slow pace, head lifting so she can watch Rachel's face, her free left hand fisting up Rachel's hair as she leans on it beside her head. Rachel knows Quinn is getting off on seeing her reactions but there's no way she can train her expression into anything else than the way her eyes are screwed shut, her mouth is open and taking breaths between bursts of gasps and groans, and her hands refuse to release nails from digging into Quinn's proud hips. The burn in her stomach is so concentrated, pain in her legs muscles as her heels push into the mattress— she can't even form the beginning of a coherent sentence. All that is going on in her mind is the fact Quinn Fucking Fabray is fucking her better than she could imagine, her words swimming in her ears.

Bright lights pop behind her eye lids and her spine hurts from arching so fast off the bed. She doesn't process that she is the one screaming, or that her nails are sinking so hard into Quinn's flesh that she is about to draw blood. All she knows is that she has exploded and is drifting off to heaven. Slowly, her hands unfold, falling from Quinn's waist, and her back meets her bed again. Her eyes don't open but she knows Quinn is lying down beside her, pulling the blankets from beneath them to drape over their bodies. She does roll into the warmth of Quinn's body, feeling the slip of their skin from sweat. An arm moves beneath her head, holding her closer to what could be the nook of Quinn's neck, and a hand rests over her waist, legs entangling.

Just before she drifts off, she tries to smile when Quinn kisses her lips.

* * *

_December 29__th__, 2012 — 11:40 a.m._

* * *

When she wakes up, she's alone.

Praying to God that last night wasn't a vivid, very detailed dream, Rachel sits up to be reminded it wasn't. Her legs feel wobbly even seated and the sheets fall from her bare chest to expose her to cool air. Wrapping the sheets around her, she stands, a hand planted on the edge of the bed to balance her. She starts for her door when she finally hears singing in her bathroom.

It sounds like a phone is playing Pandora and the song Quinn sings along to is _Please Don't Go_ by Mike Posner. Quinn's voice is angelic, her voice mirroring Posner's in the perfect way a woman can to a man's. Smiling at how suitable the song is for the both of them, she listens until it ends. Even when the next song begins, _Finally Found You_ by Enrique Iglesias, Quinn doesn't sing along.

Walking from the door, Rachel goes back to her dresser. She realizes how amazing she feels, how absolutely happy she is, and opens her drawers with a smile. She selects her outfit for the day, which just happens to be another pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. Finding some underwear, she takes her clothing and puts it on her bed, sitting and grabbing her phone. She's checking a couple messages from her fathers and Puck and doesn't notice Quinn creeping out of the bathroom.

Out of nowhere, _She Looks Like Sex_ by Mike Posner again plays, and Rachel turns to see Quinn putting her phone on the table where Rachel does her school work at. A sly smile is on the girl's lips, her blonde hair hanging around her shoulders in tousled, wet locks. A simple white towel is wrapped around her chest, held up by a hand, as the other the other gestures to the beginning of the song.

"_Forget them other boys, baby, forget them other guys,_" Quinn sings, her voice parallel to Posner once more. Rachel breaks into a smile, hugging the sheets and her phone to her chest as Quinn continues, taking slow steps forward.

"_That ass makes me_ _oo_o_ooh_!" Quinn practically moans, singing the next lines as such and making Rachel giggle. The chorus comes along and Quinn is before Rachel now, kneeling, hand still holding her towel, the other tracing her features.

"_She looks like sex, sex, sex, sex,_" Quinn repeats, her expression coy and her eyes playful. She doesn't say the next line as she leans forward, Rachel leaning down, and their lips spark as they kiss.

"I'm convinced Mike Posner wrote most of his songs for us," Rachel announces, laughing gently.

"So am I," Quinn agrees, standing and moving back around to the end of the bed where she set her clothes when she woke up. Rachel gathers her things and passes Quinn just as the blonde drops her towel to dress. Forcing herself to not look back, Rachel shuts the bathroom door, sets her things down, and hops in the shower.

She isn't in long when the door opens again and Quinn walks in, humming an unknown tune. Rachel has the urge to cover herself even if the glass is warped so that you can't even make out features through the barrier, but Quinn doesn't seem fazed in the least and stands before the mirror, a curling iron in hand. Rachel looks over her shoulder as she tries to go back to her shower, making out the movement of the blonde styling her hair. She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her heart from stoppering in her throat, the idea of her being naked in the same room as Quinn doing things to her that should have been satiated last night.

Her shower finishes and Quinn's putting away her makeup bag. Wanting to wait until the girl leaves the bathroom, Quinn has another idea and takes the towel from the toilet. She opens the shower doors with her infamous eyebrow raise, eyes focused on Rachel's, and hands over the towel.

"You don't need to hide from me," she says.

Rachel takes the towel with a blush, thankful that the hot water has already given her skin a glow so that Quinn doesn't actually see it. Plucking up the courage, she wraps the towel around herself and leans forward, capturing the blonde's lips for a moment.

"I'm not hiding," Rachel says as she steps out of the shower, "I just don't want a reason to have to take another shower… or a cold one either."

"If that's the case, then I always need a cold shower," Quinn jests, winking.

After that, Rachel dresses comfortably and the pair of them moves downstairs. Quinn sets up _Friends_ in the living room, rather to watch that than some musical, and Rachel scrounges the kitchen for something to make.

"I really need to go shopping before my fathers come home," she notes, gnawing on her nail as she peers through the refrigerator.

"I don't think they'd blame you if you didn't," Quinn chimes in, walking into the kitchen. She leans against one of the counters. "It's not like the weather has been the best. Have you told them?"

"I mentioned the snow, just not the depth of it," Rachel admits, looking sheepish as she shuts the door.

"I can settle for cereal you know," Quinn says, shrugging off the counter and opening the door. She takes the Cap'n Crunch box and shakes it, a smile coming to her lips with what is left being enough for her. Rachel smiles and turns around to take out the soy milk, and when she sits at the table, Quinn has already found Rachel's bran cereal, two bowls, and utensils.

The two eat in comfortable silence until Quinn leans back and quite bluntly announces, "Well, last night was unexpected."

Forcing herself to swallow, Rachel looks up. "Are you regretting it?" The fear in her voice is obvious and she wishes it wasn't so painful.

"Of course not," Quinn backtracks, leaning forward to grab Rachel's hand, "I just thought that, even if it wasn't technically our first time, you'd want it to be something much more special."

"Well, it was special," Rachel shrugs a shoulder, feeling heat return to her chest.

"Yes, well, I thought there would have been planning on your part at the very least," Quinn smirks, "Maybe even candles and a back massage to set the mood."

"I don't have to plan everything!" Rachel says defensively, though Quinn was right. She takes her hand away to pretend-pout and brings her bowl to the sink.

She only gets to turning around and Quinn is right behind her. She sets her hand on either side of Rachel, against the lip of the counter, and leans in, trapping her. Her very presence sends a shudder through Rachel, her warm breath faint across her jaw. The look she is giving her parallels the one from last night and Rachel vaguely wonders if this is how it's always going to be— Rachel succumbing to the power of those burning hazel eyes.

The next movements are gradual, heavy with purpose. Quinn's eyes never waver from Rachel's as she closes the space between their mouths and presses their lips in the perfect way they meld together. Of their own accord, Rachel's hands rise to tangle her fingers through Quinn's hair, a little flag in the back of her mind reminding her to not disrupt it. She doesn't need sex hair to alert her parents to what she has been doing all these days. Not that they seem to care…

"Quinn?" Rachel wants to say but instead whimpers. The question mark in her voice is the only thing that keeps Quinn from taking the shorter girl right there against the counter.

"Yes?"

"What do your parents think you're doing?" Her eyes are still closed and their lips are still touching but suddenly they aren't. She opens her eyes to see the expression of guilt on her face before it flits away.

"They think I stayed the night at Santana's last night," she says, meaning to sound confident, like there isn't a problem in the answer. It comes to Rachel's attention just then how close she is to Quinn now because beneath that seemingly level tone is that guilt she saw.

"What about Christmas?" Rachel asks, training her voice to keep from cracking.

Quinn takes a step back, seeing the direction their conversation is taking. "I said that Santana's parents are fighting again and her dad skipped out again for the night and she needed me."

"Do your parents even know who I am?" Rachel asks, the light coming to what should have been shed before all this even happened.

A shake of her head is all the rest of the pieces she needs to the puzzle. How Rachel didn't figure this out sooner, she doesn't know. All she does know now is that Rachel hasn't even been mentioned in their family, that all this time they have been spending together is a secret while Rachel dances in the kitchen in front of Puck because of how seemingly perfect their relationship is going. Is this how they're going to work? Are they going to spend the rest of the year a _lie_ in order to protect Quinn from the scorn of her family at the prospect of their daughter dating another girl?

"Where do we stand, Quinn?" Rachel questions, feeling herself close in on herself a little in the way her arms wrap protectively across her chest. Even clothed she suddenly feels so naked.

"What do you mean?" Quinn repeats incredulously but in a soft tone, "You know how I feel about you, Rachel. You know how I've felt about you for a long time."

"I do _now_," the brunettes corrects, "but you're still hiding it. It's in plain sight but no one sees it. No one saw us kiss that day at the coffee shop and no one knows we've been spending every day together since Christmas. And why now? If you've liked me all this time, why are you just now doing something about it?" As she voices her new questions, she looks up, knowing her eyes are hardening as they land on Quinn's, that the closeness and comfort has dissipated from the air. Even though they stand a mere two feet apart, it feels so much more and it continues to spread.

"I want to figure things out before the rest of the world knows," Quinn starts, her façade falling at the expression she receives. It's very rare to see Quinn Fabray in her true, raw form and it's quickly showing on her face. "I've wanted to tell you, Rachel, but it was never right. You were either with Finn or focused on our Glee club tournaments or we were pretending to hate each other."

"Pretending? I really thought you hated me." Just thinking about it makes Rachel want to flinch but after all the practice she perfected in keeping her chin high and seemingly unaffected by her words keeps her from doing so.

"Because I was raised to believe the feelings I have are sinful!" Quinn insists, "My entire family is strictly Christian and anything against our religion is worthy of becoming disowned. I _was_ disowned, remember? If they knew how I felt about you, about what we have done, I would be back on the streets for good."

"So you'd rather lie, as you did before now, in order to appease your family?" Rachel says, sounding much more harsh than she means to, "Do you not think that if you were disowned I wouldn't help you? Puck wouldn't help you? You have people who actually care about you for who you are and not what you stand for."

"Jesus, Rachel, do I have to say it?" Quinn throws her hands up, frustrated now, but with an edge to her voice that Rachel isn't quick enough to recognize before the blonde says, "I'm _scared_! I am _scared_ of my feelings, of my family, of God, of the attention we would draw if we were open about our relationship! I always have control and if it slips from me for one second, I lose it all. I just wanted to focus on getting to you, to having you, to being with you before everyone else has to be let in our secret. I thought you would understand!"

_I thought you would understand._ The words bounce bitterly inside Rachel's head and this time, she flinches. She flinches at how loud Quinn's voice has risen and the accusation at the conclusion of her monologue. She should understand but somehow, it just felt like betrayal. It felt so much more real but knowing that the only person who knows of their relationship besides themselves is Puck seems so superficial. She wants to leap into Quinn's arms and have her hold her, whisper sweet things in her ear, kiss her jaw with those full, sensuous lips, but her feet stay planted and her eyes cast down, watering with tears that threaten to fall.

It hurts so much because she has never loved anyone the way she loves Quinn now. Knowing that only half of Quinn wants to be with her is not enough because the days they have spent together were filled with a complete Quinn, one who actually makes Rachel feel loved and whole and right. The fact that half of her still remains with the social norm of her family and society crushes her.

"Rachel, please," Quinn begs, her voice much softer and gentler than the last she spoke. She raises a hand, meaning to touch Rachel some way, any way, to see her eyes, to convey how contrite she is, but she fails, as she fears that she will always do, and drops her hand.

"Maybe you should go," Rachel utters, a hand flying up to swipe beneath her eye to catch the tear before it tracks down her cheek, "I need time to think."

"I don't want to leave you," Quinn says, sounding slightly panicked. Rachel knows it's because she feels herself losing control but she can't help that her chest aches and she just wants to be alone, to think.

When she doesn't say anything, Quinn swallows and forces her face into something that could pass as impassive if one didn't read her hard enough. She almost leans forward to press a fleeting kiss to Rachel's lips but with the way her head is ducked and her eyes won't meet hers, she resists the urge and slowly moves from the kitchen, hoping Rachel will call her back. When she doesn't, she wills her feet to carry her upstairs to gather her things and then back downstairs. Even at the bottom of the landing, her heart continues to sink and she grabs the knob of the front door, closing her eyes for a second, letting the cold metal bite into her palm. Still no sound is heard from the kitchen and she unlocks the door, steps outside into the cold, not quite so magical, winter and doesn't bother to put on her jacket.

From inside, Rachel pads silently to the front door, hidden behind the wood and peeking through the frosted window. Alone, she lets her tears run errant and watches Quinn collapse into her car, shutting the door, but not turning on the car. She stares forward, at her steering wheel, hands in her lap, fighting with herself. Rachel can practically feel it. She suddenly grips the steering wheel and shakes it, more herself than the actual car. She has a fit for a split second, her conflict emerging, and then it disappears just as quickly as she jams her keys into the ignition. She carefully reverses down the driveway and Rachel thanks her God as Quinn drives just as carefully down the road, even upset and still in control enough to know to be smart on the dangerous roads.

Once her car is out of sight, Rachel bites her lips to stop the sob from escaping. In a matter of a few minutes, her whole blissful world, built up by Quinn, has toppled. She turns and slams her back against the door, her head hitting the wood but her mind not registering the pain. She clenches her eyes, wanting the tears to stop, and rubs her hands over her cheeks angrily. Trying to catch her breath, she springs off the door and walks into the living room, turning on the space heater by the couch and nestling herself in a couple throw blankets. She reaches out from her nest to grab the remote and turn on _Friends_ for background sound before huddling further in her blankets. Her hands curl beneath her chin, holding her chest like she fears it'll fall apart without the support, but the only thing that could really support her heart from breaking is Quinn and she isn't here anymore.

* * *

A couple hours pass and Rachel has dozed off. That is, until the front door bangs open and she bolts up, "Quinn!" leaving her mouth in a tone of desperation unlike her.

"Quinn?" Puck says as he strides into the living room. Whatever else he had to say died with his smile and his cocky saunter. Immediately, he sets the paper bag on the ground and throws off his coat, nearly falling on top of Rachel as he sits beside her. His hand touches her cheek and his scratchy thumb wipes away the rough paths of dried tears.

"What happened?" he asks, taking in her swollen, red eyes. He glances at the TV, seeing it on the main menu that it returns to once all the episodes on the disk are finished playing and figuring she must've fallen asleep.

"Quinn and I had an argument," Rachel croaks out, her voice constricted in her throat as she thinks back to the morning, "It was pretty serious."

"About what? What's going on?" Puck sounds so concerned, his dark brown eyes so fraught with confusion, that Rachel breaks into a water smile and just wraps her arms around his neck. Automatically, his circle her ribs, pulling her tight against his chest. She can smell his distinct smell, since Puck doesn't wear cologne. He smells good, indescribable, and maybe just a bit like Old Spice since he does have to worry about BO, being a boy and all. In his muscled arms, against his warm chest, she feels safe, but she can't help realizing Puck safe and Quinn safe are two different kinds of safe and Quinn's arms feel much more intimate.

Since she hasn't divulged anything of the morning argument, Puck settles with not having to hear it. She did say it was serious and Rachel Berry is one to talk. If she isn't talking, then something is definitely wrong and all he can do is sit there and hold her. Maybe get her to sleep some more. But not before one thing…

"You should talk to her," he whispers through her hair, leaning back against the couch subtly, "call her later tonight."

"Maybe," Rachel answers, muffled by the collar of his shirt. She rests her head on his shoulder, turning in his lap so that she is more cradled than embraced. Puck supports her spine along his arm, his hand resting on her side respectfully. His other hand grabs a blanket and throws it over her legs before resting his hand on her thigh. He just nods, accepting her uncertainty, and rocks just barely. Using his foot, he digs his toe beneath the remote and then kicks up, sending the device sailing through the air towards them. He catches it with his hand with a chuckle, like he knows how impressive his little feats are, and Rachel scoffs sleepily, closing her dry eyes. Puck presses "Play All" and the _Friends_ episodes start all over, the volume low to blur their words and laughter.

* * *

When Rachel wakes up again, she is back to lying on the couch, amidst her many blankets. She sits up, feeling lagged from sleeping during the day. She rubs her recovering eyes and stretches, looking to the other couch where Puck has glanced up to see her waking, earphones in his ears. He gives her a crooked smile and then turns his attention back to the laptop on his knees, watching something as lights dance on his features.

Standing, Rachel throws the blankets back on the couch and walks to the kitchen. She finds a glass and fills it with water from the tap, taking a big drink. She feels her sweatpants pockets for her phone but meets her leg beneath the material. Finishing her glass, she sets it in the sink and jogs upstairs, taking a deep breath and forcing away thoughts and images from her mind that begin to remind her of why she is asleep so late in the day.

Upstairs, she takes her phone from her nightstand. There's a replied message from her fathers after what she sent this morning and then one other. Her heart drums unintentionally and it's because the text is from Quinn.

_I'm sorry. Could I call you later?_

Rachel gnaws her lips as her thumbs tap over the screen, _Whenever is fine_ appearing in the reply box. She hits send without thinking, not wanting to think because she doesn't know how to feel.

A few minutes pass and her phone doesn't light up with Quinn's name on screen. She sets it down and lays back in her bed, failing to keep from rolling her head in the pillow to look at where she laid last night, Quinn's hands roaming her body, her lips traveling her skin, whispering things against her that had sunk in to the bone. It isn't lust that fills her stomach but nostalgia, feeling like last night was much longer ago and they were different people then.

A vibration drives itself into her chest and she sits up, knowing her phone is really what is vibrating because Quinn is calling her. She takes another deep breath and picks it up, sliding the "Answer" bar and holding the receiver up to her ear.

"Hi," comes Quinn's timid voice, sounding like she might have cried herself. It makes Rachel choke up.

"Hi," Rachel repeats, drawing her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers, the line static-y with the low wavelengths of her apology.

"I am too," Rachel admits, looking down at her bedspread, her fingers skimming the material.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Quinn rejects, "And if it's possible, I have even more to be sorry about."

It feels like someone has punched Rachel in the gut, or as close as she can imagine it to be. All she can recall is what it's like to have a stinging, cold slushie thrown in your face to match the stinging humiliation of a hallway's worth of students laughing at you.

When she doesn't say anything, Quinn continues, "I need to see you tomorrow."

An idea pops into her head. "I know where we can meet, if we aren't meeting long."

"I don't think you'd want to," Quinn murmurs. Rachel winces.

"Okay. Do you know where that small pond is, a couple miles outside of my neighborhood in the park?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you there after lunch."

It sounds like Quinn is struggling with something before she says, "Okay."

"Goodnight, Quinn," Rachel says, feeling tears in her eyes again and hating that she has cried so much already over something that wasn't even a real relationship.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

Hanging up, Rachel heads back downstairs, into the living room. One look at Puck and the Mohawk'd boy is up and back at her couch again, lifting a blanket and accepting her into his lap. Her wraps her up and holds her, humming something deep in his chest so that his warmth combined with his vibrating melody puts her to sleep before she has a real chance to cry.

* * *

_December 30__th__, 2012 — 2:30 p.m._

* * *

"I'll be here when you get back, okay?" Puck says, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. He had to go home last night so Rachel woke up with a note scrawled in his bad handwriting so she wouldn't feel abandoned. It was nice enough to wake up to but didn't help the hole in her stomach.

"You don't have to be," Rachel assures, putting her coat on and sniffing, "I know your mom can't be too happy about your lack of presence at home."

"_I'm_ not too happy about her lack of presence at home," Puck counters, mimicking her pedantic tone. He smiles. He mats down her hair meant to be in a soothing gesture and places a kiss on her forehead. She returns the smile with half the enthusiasm and gives him a quick hug before taking her keys from her purse, and leaving through the front door.

She jogs to her car, unlocks the door, and hops inside, shivering already. It hasn't snowed since the night Quinn was over so the roads have improved slightly, a Good Samaritan of the neighborhood having gone up and down the streets, sprinkling salt. Rachel turns on her car, sputtering to life with the lack of use recently, and revs it up in park to get the engine warmed up so she can turn on the heater. She didn't tell Quinn what time to meet exactly, but knowing the blonde, she'll probably already be there, waiting. She's always early.

Once she can turn on the heater, she does, and then the radio. _One More Night_ by Maroon 5 plays and though it is a little uncanny, the song is too catchy and Rachel reluctantly adds her magnificent voice to Levine's.

She drives through the neighborhood and then outside of it, hardly noticing her surroundings, her mind on idle as she sings from song to song. The catty-corner chains on her tires give her peace of mind whenever she spots an ice patch but she still slows to pass over it before resuming a practical speed. Eventually, the houses thin and then an expanse of trees with a cement walk way cleared by shovel appear. The trees, barren and skeletal, are topped with tufts of snow, while beneath them, snow forts dot the forest floor. It was the best place to build, the snow not as high and packed as the snow unhindered by the trees. She smiles, thinking back when she used to build her own forts and command boys to attack for her. They more than often attacked her but somehow, she always felt like she controlled them.

Approaching a parking lot, her assumption is proven true as she spots Quinn's car. She pulls into the parking lot and parks a couple spaces away, turning off her car and keeping herself from immediately snapping her eyes over to find the blonde. When she tucks her keys into her jeans pocket and steps out of the car, locking the doors, does she turn to look.

Her eyes reflexively land on Quinn's hazel. Even in the distance, they shine but not the typical shine that Rachel has grown to see whenever the blonde looked at her. This kind of shine is of tears and regret and fear. Being able to see these emotions so blatantly scares Rachel and she fights panic and other emotions from suffocating her lungs. She pushes her hands into the warmth of her coat pockets and takes a couple tentative steps in Quinn's direction. The blonde shuts her car door and rounds the front, walking over and slowing as she approaches.

What she does next is unexpected and against what they spoke about the day prior. Quinn lifts a hand to firmly but tenderly take Rachel's left hand from her pocket. She falls in step beside her, her fingers threading with Rachel's tightly, and she pulls her forward, angled for the entrance through the wrought-iron fence to the park. Rachel sucks in a sharp, cold breath and brings her eyes back to the asphalt peeking through patches of ice and matted snow. Together, they walk hand in hand into the park, following the shoveled path.

Silence is the only greeting between them. Their boots crunch in unison against the crisp snow beneath their feet, having melted and then frozen in the night. Quinn doesn't swing their hands but keeps them tight by their side. She doesn't try to hide it by pressing their sides together, but actually gives Rachel some space, their hands suspended together. In her peripheral, Rachel can see Quinn looking forward, her lips a thin line. She wears a little, layered beanie on the crown of her head, covering her ears. Her long blonde hair falls in tangled curls around her shoulders, fluttering in the gentle breeze accompanied by winter that nips the exposed skin and stings the eyes.

They walk this way for what seems much longer than the few minutes it takes to get to the pond. Despite the apparent cold of the night to freeze over the water, the pond is roped off with signs every couple yards warning residents and visitors alike to please refrain from ice skating on the pond. They walk right up to the rope, Rachel unable to keep from poking the toe of her boot against a peg and pushing it around in the snow.

Something forces her to look up and she meets Quinn's eyes evenly, watching her. Quinn blinks, something else entirely flashing in her eyes, and instead of disappearing, it remains there, taunting Rachel to figure out what exact emotion is swimming in those amber orbs.

"I love you."

Simple. Easy. Blunt. Three words. No prologue. No forewarning. Just three simple, easy, blunt words.

But that's just it. They're not simple. They're not easy. They are definitely blunt with nothing to prepare Rachel for the full weight of them falling so entirely from Quinn's lips. Her breath catches in her throat, too cold and stabbing, but it doesn't matter. Her mind reels for a second before stopping and everything beside Quinn's angelic, cold face falls away. She can't feel her hand in Quinn's anymore but flexes her fingers, reaffirming they are still locked together.

_She loves me._

"I—" but the words are cut off by warm lips pressing against her own and she has to close her eyes to soak in the spark that lances between them, knowing they still have that to look forward to. When Quinn pulls back, it's with a rush of air, like it is the most regrettable thing she has to do. The worst has yet to come.

"Please," she pants, eyes still closed, brows furrowed like she is in pain, "Don't. Say. It. I told you I love you because I do, I love you more than I thought I was capable of feeling for one person but you have proven _so_ much to me, opened my eyes to things that I never thought I could see… I just had to tell you. And it might be the last time I tell you."

"What?" Rachel strangles out, throat seizing up, "Why?"

"Because I won't see you tomorrow," she replies, licking her lips, eyes still closed. She leans forward the last few inches to rest their foreheads together, needing the contact between then, their fingers still wound together for dear life. "I may hate myself for never taking the risk or I may hate my family for not letting me be who I want to be. Do you understand?"

_Tomorrow, she'll either tell them or she won't_ Rachel tells herself, closing her eyes as well. She understands and she gives the smallest of nods. It may also be the last time she hears Quinn tell her she loves her because, if she doesn't tell her family, she won't allow herself to be near Rachel again, to save her the heartache, and if she does tell her family, who knows how they may react. They may disown her, they may repress her, they may deny the fact their daughter is in love with another girl and forbid her to ever see her again.

"What about after graduation?" Rachel whispers, her heart fighting to pump through the ache washing in waves over her entire body.

"I won't make you wait for me," Quinn murmurs, "It isn't fair. You deserve to have a full, happy life, and after all I have done to you, I won't do this worst thing of all to you."

"You're worth the wait," Rachel insists.

"No," Quinn bites, "I am nothing to wait on. I used to humiliate you, bully you, torture you. I tore you down because I tore myself down every night I tried to convince myself I wasn't in love with you. I made you sophomore and junior year hell to make up for the hell I was living inside my head. I prayed to God every chance I got for him to help me, for me to see the reason behind why I had such feelings for you, to change my ways, but he never answered and I realized it was because there is nothing wrong with how I love you. I won't let you wait a _minute_ on me. I won't let you hold yourself back when you can move on and become the star you are meant to."

"You can't stop me," Rachel fires back, pressing her forehead harder against Quinn's, "because I will wait for you tomorrow and I will wait for you while the clock ticks those last ten seconds."

"Don't hate me," Quinn warns urgently, "You can't hate me."

"I will always love you."

* * *

_December 31__st__, 2012 — 12:05 p.m._

* * *

"Nervous?" Puck asks, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders. His other hand holds a bowl of Rachel's bran because they don't have much cereal left and he didn't want to make anything else. After his third complaint, Rachel threatened to sock him in the mouth if he doesn't stop dissing her favorite cereal.

"For lack of a better term," Rachel deadpans, staring at the tile of the kitchen, "What if she doesn't come?"

"She has to, Rache," Puck soothes, tilting the bowl afterwards to take a drink of milk, "She loves you."

"What if that isn't enough?" she asks for the umpteenth time.

Abruptly, the bowl clatters in the sink and Puck is standing before her. He cups her cheeks and guides her eyes to meet his, again, his dark chocolate capturing her and his honesty all the more powerful.

"I'm not exactly an advocate on love but I can see it in your eyes and I can see it in her eyes— you love each other and _she will come_."

Rachel lets herself absorb up every bit of Puck is gazing into her and then jumps against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and lifts her into the air, spinning her, her pleated skirt whirling in the air. She squeals and moves a hand to hold down the back, wanting to remain modest despite the lack of an audience.

"I love you, my hot little Jewish American princess," he announces loudly.

"I love you too, Noah," Rachel laughs as she is set back down and Puck dances out into the living room.

Following him, she plops down on the couch to watch another disk of _Friends_. Puck hurries about, setting up everything for their little party. Rachel made it clear that this time, the party must be much smaller. The clean-up process of the last one was too long and arduous. Finding random cans of Red Bull behind drawers and such is not fun to clean up and especially with the idea of her fathers finding out about what she has been doing while they were gone.

A knock sounds on the door and Rachel jumps up. Seeing Puck prepare to sprint before her, she darts down the hallway, giggling when she feels his hands on her shoulders, trying to stop her from reaching the door before he does. They end up piling up into the door, surprising the person on the other side. Puck twists the knob and slings the door open, pushing Rachel away.

Outside, Sam shivers, holding a couple plastic grocery bags.

"Puck said you needed food?" he says questioningly. Seeing the cute boy face and the shaggy blonde hair, Rachel squeals again and grabs his arm, pulling him inside. Taking the bags from his arms, he laughs and gives her a one-armed hug while Puck puts his boots and jacket on to get the rest of the groceries from Sam's car.

In the kitchen, Rachel rifles through cereal, milk, some organic crap that is so stereotypical, it makes her laugh, and organizes everything onto their proper shelves. Working keeps her from thinking and not thinking too much keeps her from worrying if Quinn is going to show up tonight. Crumpling up the plastic bags and storing them in a rope sack just inside the pantry door for later use, she awaits the next onslaught of groceries.

"Who paid for this?" Rachel asks as the door shuts and the two boys walk in with the last of the bags.

"I did," Puck answers, sitting a case of beer on the counter with a roll of eyes from Rachel, "You said you needed more groceries in the house so I snagged some extra dough."

"Wow, Noah," Rachel sighs, taking the beer and setting inside the refrigerator for later. He laughs behind her and she leaves back into the living room, letting the two chat and put away the rest of the food.

Back on the couch, she glances over her shoulder with a bemused smile at the bar Puck has set back up and the table for beer pong. Rachel remembers the Christmas party and how Blaine got her and Quinn to do shots with him and Kurt. A surge of pride at being the second fastest to down her shots goes through her chest and she smiles, before pushing it all away because Quinn is all too overwhelming in her head and she really just needs to watch more _Friends_.

After a couple minutes, the two boys walk from the kitchen. Sam tosses a football across the way, Puck diving into the couch to catch it with a bark of a laugh.

"Don't throw things in the house!" Rachel snaps, sitting forward and pointing with the remote threateningly.

"What? Not even you?" Sam counters, smiling his wide, wide smile and leaning down to grab Rachel's arms and pull them over his head so he could pick her up. She begins screaming for him to put her back down even as he stands with her over his shoulder. Again, her hand goes back to hold down her skirt but Sam bats the hand away to slap her ass jokingly.

"Nuh uh," Puck interjects. Rachel peers around Sam's other shoulder to see Puck pointing with one hand, the other drawn back to throw the football. "Don't touch my little princess like that, bro."

"What you gonna do?" Sam taunts, raising a hand again. Rachel slaps at his wrist but he keeps his hand poised, waiting for Puck to react to his next impending slap.

Suddenly, Rachel is whirling around, screaming, as Sam dodges the football launched at his head. It bounces off the shoulder not holding Rachel and ricochets to hit a picture frame and knock it to the floor with a shatter.

"Noah _Puckerman_!" Rachel shrieks, coming to a halt once Sam realizes the damage. She slinks off his arm, stumbling at the height, and then runs over to the broken picture of her fathers in Cancun.

"Shit, sorry, Rache," Puck apologizes timorously, walking over to pick up a couple jagged pieces of glass. He pulls away when Rachel decks him in the arm.

"Jeez, do you know how much your punches hurt?" he asks, looking like a hurt puppy as he rubs his arm.

"Don't throw things in the house!" she repeats, picking up the picture and setting it back. She points at the glass. "Clean up the mess."

"Yes mom," he mutters, sweeping the shards into his palm. Rachel rolls her eyes and looks at Sam, who appears just as sheepish. He offers a small smile, strange for his big mouth, and she can't help but smirk at how adorable he is.

The rest of the afternoon drags by, Puck and Sam employing themselves to decorate with tacky streamers and banners that shout "Happy New Year's!" or "2013!" with little blue stars that hang off curly strings. Rachel complains about the lack of gold stars and Sam huffs as he trudges back out to the store, only to return with a package of gold and silver streams with gold stars on them. She pecks him on the cheek, which seems to lift his spirits, and he continues about adding to the already festive living room and kitchen. Rachel has to intercept a Solo cup on its way to Puck's mouth to keep him from starting on the drinking too early and he reluctantly puts his drink away in a cabinet with a hinge that creaks so that "the little bossy party-pooper" as Puck put it, hears when he tries to sneak it again.

Pausing in the middle of the living room after nudging away the coffee table for the dance floor, Rachel pulls out her phone. She knows she doesn't have a text from the one person she wants to hear from more than anyone else, considering they haven't talked since they parted ways after their walk around the frozen pond where Quinn actually revealed she was scared of ice skating ("because who's genius idea was it to skate around on razor blades and then decided to do jumps and pirouettes?"). She answers a text to Lauren Zizes about wondering if there needs to be more alcohol with a scoff and a polite rejection, and then stares blankly at her screen. Her background is the night sky, each individual star beaming. Somehow, the idea of her stars and the purpose they hold in which she hopes to become a star, doesn't seem to matter so much anymore. She'd much rather have a picture of her and Quinn, holding hands, one kissing the other's cheek, or doing something silly so that when someone sees the picture, they smile and point, saying "Aren't they just perfect for each other?"

Because Rachel thinks so. Scratch that. She tucks away her phone with a tight smile, _knowing_ her and Quinn are perfect for each other.

Their friends begin to arrive at 8, first Tina and Mike, carrying a platter of vegan-friendly party food to which Rachel thanks them profoundly and whisks away to prepare. Blaine and Kurt show up next, looking fabulous as ever, with Finn in tow.

"Hi, Rachel," he greets, sidling inside the door before she could close it, as if she would be so rude as to slam it in his face. She considered it.

"Hello, Finn," Rachel returns, putting on a kind face though she'd rather not be talking with him right now.

He gestures with one of his large hands, "How are you?" He has that little smile to the corner of his lips, the kind he gets when he is a little uncomfortable and trying to figure out what is best to say or do in the situation.

"I am fine, thank you," she says, sensing Kurt approaching before he walks up.

"Hey!" he says excitedly, wrapping his arms around Rachel's neck in an embrace. Hurriedly, he whispers, "I'm sorry I had to bring him Dad said it would be good for him if he got out more often and I really hope you aren't mad."

Rachel laughs and pulls away, shaking her head, "I'm not mad, Kurt. The more the merrier, I guess." She turns to Finn, "Make yourself comfortable. It's nice to have you here."

Finn's small smile grows wider and he thanks Rachel before loping off into the living room, hands stuck deep in his pockets. Rachel laughs beneath her breath and pats Kurt's cheek, the boy sighing, and she turns away to the kitchen.

Not soon after, Puck walks in, that damn red cup in hand and a curious expression on his features.

"Yo, you're not mad about Finn being here are you?" he jerks a thumb in the direction of the living room, his voice low, "I can get him to leave if you're uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Rachel declines, taking a cracker and some substitute cheese to eat. She leans against the counter with one hand. "He deserves to have a good New Year's just like the rest of us. I'm completely over him and our breakup. I happen to love someone else, you know."

A sly grin comes to Puck's face and he sidesteps over, slinking his free arm around her side.

"Quinn really has your heart, doesn't she?" he says, that seemingly sly smile actually a smile of content in hiding. Rachel nods, blushing, and then grabs his cup, taking a big drink. It burns more than one would expect a mixed drink to and she hands it over, slapping the back of her hand against his chest.

"At least dilute it a little, Noah," she admonishes, stepping from his arm to walk into the living room while finishing her cracker.

Just as she passes through the entry way into the living room, from the hall comes a loud voice and two figures. She already guesses who they are before facing them.

"The party has _arrived_!" Santana announces, throwing her arms in the air. Brittany giggles at her side and then prances over to the bar happily, Puck quickly manning the drinks to mix something up for her. Santana greets a few of her friends before her eyes land on Rachel and she lifts a lip.

"What are you wearing?" she asks, disgust lining her words.

Rachel looks down at her skirt and sweater, the usual Rachel Berry style. Since she think the party wasn't going to be as big and important as the Christmas party, she didn't try to dress up as much. She felt much more in her own skin with her animal sweaters, even if wearing a hot dress can feel free and liberating.

"This is a new sweater," Rachel tries to defend, pick at the end of the sleeve.

"You can't wear any of this junk after what you flaunted Christmas Eve," Santana snaps, grabbing Rachel's hand, "We are changing right now."

"Have you had anything to drink?" Rachel asks curiously, letting herself be dragged away from the living room and up the stairs. In front of her, Santana laughs and that's all the reply she gets.

Once in her bedroom, Santana makes a few quips about the look of the room and then begins scrounging through the closet. Rachel guesses most of her clothing isn't very pleasing from the amount of Spanish the Latina is uttering in distaste. Santana herself is wearing a skin-tight dress and fur vest, heeled boots tied up to her knees and accentuating the curve of her ass that Rachel has to look away from.

"Staring, Berry?" Santana has an eyebrow quirked and a pleasantly cunning glint in her eye, her hand halted on a hanger.

Rachel flushes and looks somewhere else, stuttering an excuse. She hears her hangers clanking together and then the muffled footfalls of Santana's heels on her carpet as the darker girl walks over. Surprisingly, a hand slides underneath the corner of Rachel's jaw and she's is forced to look up at Santana, her eyes wide with shock and her tongue leaden in her mouth. A thumb grazes the line of her jaw tenderly.

Santana holds another dress, a little more modest than the one she last wore, but that doesn't matter in comparison to the darkening of her already deep brown eyes. She stands directly in front of Rachel, smirking, her fingertips feathering over Rachel's hairline behind her ear.

"What are you doing?" Rachel somehow gets out, unable to pull away from the caress.

"You didn't let me kiss you at the last party," Santana replies simply and Rachel can't help glancing at her full, red lips. She feels a twinge of guilt in her chest for giving even a fraction of a second to imagine what it would be like to kiss the Cheerio and looks back to Santana's eyes, wishing it was Quinn who is touching her face. Everything would be so much easier if Quinn was just here.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Rachel says, remembering Quinn ask that very line the last time Santana made a move on her.

"Brittany understands," Santana provides, her fingers now tracing down Rachel's neck and against her will, raising goosebumps in the wake, "She knows I have a little crush on you."

"On _me_?" Rachel sputters, standing and finding the courage to bat away Santana's hand. This is so wrong. Another beautiful cheerleader girl who has tortured her for years is revealing some form of feelings for her victim?

"Oh, come on, you were staring at my ass," Santana calls, her hand slapping her bare thigh in exasperation. That's how short her dress is. "You wouldn't be looking if you didn't like what you saw."

"Maybe I just appreciate your body," Rachel counters, though it comes out weak and sounding more like a compliment. She crosses her arms over her chest.

Santana just looks at Rachel, waiting for her to backtrack from the compliment. When she just sees the little diva blush further, she rolls her eyes and sighs. Taking the dress from the hanger, she tosses it over, and while Rachel is busied with catching the dress, she steps closer and grabs her chin.

"If Quinn doesn't show up for the countdown, I will kiss you," she warns. Rachel feels a flutter of surprise and panic at Santana's knowledge of their secret relationship and it must show on her face because Santana gives a shred of humorless laughter. "I know about you two. Why else would Quinnie have looked after you all Christmas Eve like some clingy girlfriend already? Remember, Berry. No Quinn, my kiss."

With that, she lets go of Rachel's face and strides out of the room, shutting the door to leave Rachel alone to change.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

* * *

The entirety of Glee club with the exception of Quinn is at the party. Music plays from the surround sound her fathers had spent a weekend configuring, leaving Rachel pleased to know that the Christmas party didn't screw them up. A couple Gleeks dance in the space provided, Santana and Brittany of some of them, and more than once has Rachel caught Santana eyeing her, Brittany wearing a knowing, sultry smirk. To cover up her flush, Rachel makes sure to nurse her beer slowly, keeping her eyes away from the Latina. Out on the patio, Mercedes, Artie, and Joe laugh boisterously about something the wheelchair-confined boy was describing, and in the kitchen, she can hear Kurt and Blaine rummaging around the food, having already had a couple shots and enjoying their buzz. Puck leans against his bar chatting with Mike while Tina dances with Sam. A couple other friends are off doing their thing, or in Finn's case, chilling on one of the couches with a drink in hand and occupying themselves.

Polishing off her beer, Rachel stands and fixes the hem of her dress. She avoids glancing at Santana and walks over to the bar, setting the glass bottle down before Puck, wordlessly asking for another.

"How many have you had already?" Mike asks, directing the conversation to Rachel as Puck cracks the top of another beer and slides it to the little diva.

"Just two," she says nonchalantly, taking a sip from her third. She shrugs a shoulder and lets her eyes flit to Puck for just a moment. In that moment, he nods imperceptibly, understanding her downcast mood. A certain blonde hasn't made her appearance yet.

"Are you in the mood for a dance?" Mike suggests, pushing off the bar in case she accepts.

"That's sweet, Mike, but no thank you." Rachel gestures with her beer and takes another drink.

"What about a game of beer pong, one-on-one?" the tall Asian attempts again, taking a long step back and presenting the uninhabited table set up again for the specified game.

With a dramatic sigh, Rachel nods, letting a smile come easy to her lips. Mike fist pumps and grabs the case of beer Puck is handing over the bar to fill up the empty Solo cups. Rachel engages one end, takes a last pull of her bottle, and sets it on a cabinet near her. She watches as the dancer pops open a can of beer and begins filling a quarter of each cup. Finished with his end, he hustles around the side of the table to Rachel's, smirking at her as he begins with her cups. Puck rounds the bar and holds up a ping pong ball before the brunette. He kisses it with a flourish and hands it over, explaining "for good luck!"

Holding the ping pong ball poised, she waits for Mike to reach his end before asking, "Bounce or toss?"

"Whichever," Mike shrugs, rubbing his palms together in anticipation for their game.

Hoping Puck's luck helps her, considering her abilities only range in music and not athleticism of any sort, she aims and flicks her wrist down. The ball bounces and clips the last cup on Mike's side, not making it into any of his cups. With a whoop, Mike catches the ball and then takes stance, choosing to toss instead of bounce. After a second of concentration, he flicks his fingers, the ball sailing in a small arc before plopping perfectly in a cup.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel plucks the ping pong ball out and takes the cup, downing it. She throws the cup Puck's way to take care of, giving him a dirty glare for his poor luck, and then decides to toss this time. Aiming, she does the same as Mike and pops her fingers, the ball bridging and hitting the rim of a cup and landing in another.

"That's my girl!" Puck cheers, Mike taking the ball out to drink his cup.

The game continues, neck and neck, though Rachel suspects Mike is purposely going easy on her. In the end, he wins with two cups left over and Rachel is in a nice, hazy state of mind. She bounces into Mike's arms for a big hug and thanks him for the game, which actually has succeeded in taking her mind off Quinn for the time being.

She picks up her previously abandoned beer bottle more out of habit than wanting to drink even more, excuses herself, and makes her way to the bathroom. She averts the dance floor and kitchen, really needing to pee and not be sidetracked, and breathes a sigh of relief when she's home free. Locking the bathroom door behind her, she sets her beer on the sink and relieves herself. Once at the sink, washing her hands, she looks up into the mirror and the absent-minded smile fades.

The last time she was in this bathroom, she didn't see herself in the mirror. She had been standing in front of Quinn and all she could see in the mirror was long blonde waves down between shoulder blades clad by a white mini cardigan. She remembers it as the first time she saw that shine in her green-gold starburst eyes, when she admitted she felt safe and wanted to spend time with Rachel rather than anyone else. She came to that party because of Rachel. Maybe she came because she thought it was finally the right time to try and prove her feelings. In a way, she did. She showed that they were friends, that they had some level of trust, and it paved the way for their night to continue developing into something that seemed like a mistake when it really opened them to what they were too scared to reveal.

Conflicted, Rachel looks down at her hands beneath the spout of warm water and slaps the tap off. She grabs the towel hanging on the rack and wipes her hands off. She wants to be happy, to relive the past five wonderful days she just spent with Quinn, but at the same time she is upset. She is upset because Quinn isn't here and she might not come at all and she'll have to kiss Santana, which is pretty much just as good as kissing to seal the deal with the Devil and accept that a relationship with the girl she loves won't happen.

Throwing the towel back on its rack, she leans against the sink, closing her eyes tightly. She breathes heavily through her mouth, in, out, and tells herself not to cry. She's thinking too much again and there's always a time and place that is right to do that. In a situation like this and for the sake of her sanity, she can't afford to overanalyze everything right now.

Standing straight, chin up, and swallowing tears, she grabs her beer and takes a strong drink before leaving the bathroom.

* * *

The majority of the night is spent walking around, beer in hand, socializing with her friends and catching up with them over the break. A lot of them have been spending time with family and friends, deciding that it is best to use their money on things that they'd like rather than go out of town to see other relatives. About half of the Glee club is well on their way to drunk and it's quite hilarious listening to their accounts of festivities on all their free days. Rachel feels pretty good herself, which serves to solve many things on her mind, and she even gives in to a dance with Mike and Tina. The two sandwich her and laugh, Tina a good couple inches taller actually, and make fun of Rachel's height. Even in her heels, she is still easily the shortest person at the party and it is well aware. After the song, Rachel pries herself away despite their attempts to persuade her to keep dancing, and goes to have a seat. She knows Finn is trying to find the courage to talk to her at the bottom of his cups but every time he tries to make eye contact, Rachel pretends to be distracted by someone else in the room.

Eventually, the hour she dreads nears. The music is switched off and the TV is turned to a program showing live coverage of Time's Square. It gives Rachel a strange swell of pride, seeing the land she wishes to associate herself with some day. Crowds cheer and celebrate as in ten easy minutes, the east coast will ring in the new year. Abruptly, Mercedes and Kurt jet through the living room, bags of confetti in their hands, hollering and whooping and throwing the shreds of sparkly paper through the air. Shouts and laughter erupt at the confetti raining around and Rachel looks up to watch it fall around her face, tickling her cheeks. She should be happy, she is with people she cares the most about, but none of them would matter if the one she loves was here. On the outside she appears to be fine, tipsy even, mingling with her friends, but on the inside, she is tearing slowly apart. She won't have the kiss she wants to have and each passing minute slices a little deeper into her chest.

Picking the pieces of glossy, shredded paper from her hair, someone wraps their arms around her waist and spins her around. For a wild second, she imagines Quinn being the one whirling her around to face her, but instead, Sam grins boyishly down at her. He slides one hand up into hers while his other arm remains wound around her waist. He lulls them into a sort of slow dance.

"How are you?" he asks, his voice lowered so it is a conversation just between the two of them. For someone has had about three beers and a couple shots, he's pretty stable and his words hardly slur.

"I'm fantastic," Rachel fibs. She feels fine but not the best she could or should be. Her lie must be weak however because Sam gives her an expression of skepticism.

"Quinn's not here," he says, twirling them, "I dated her, remember. I was with her long enough to know the little shifts in her attitude and pick up little quirks here and there. She likes you. And you're not as happy as you could be if she were here."

Rachel's eyes dart nervously around them, making sure no one is listening. It's not that she's afraid for her reputation but that she is afraid for Quinn's. Quinn is so secretive and mysterious and she wanted to keep their relationship on the down low until she could figure things out for herself. If anyone overhears what Sam is saying, it could really ruin any chance, no matter how slim, they might still have by causing Quinn to become angry and possibly feel betrayed.

"No one is paying attention, Rache," Sam soothes, taking a step away from the crowd to alleviate her nerves, "I just wanted to talk to you to let you know I understand. I know you have Puck but if he isn't available at the time, you have me, too."

He gives her a small smile again, his baby blue eyes so caring, and Rachel can't help but return the smile again. She leans up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek, chuckling through her nose. He spins them once rapidly, earning a laugh from the short girl, and then pulls away, the only connection between the two of them being their hands they still hold. His eyes hover past her shoulder and his eyebrow twitches with intrigue. Rachel looks over her shoulder to see Santana sauntering over, a seemingly innocent smile on her face. It looks more like a smile that a psychopath should be wearing.

"Hello, Guppy Mouth," she greets. She reaches up to take their interlocked hands and pry them open, sliding her smooth hand in Rachel's. Sam ignores the name and rolls his eyes at Rachel. Rachel gives a silent apology and he waves it away, smiling.

Now that Sam is gone, Santana turns her attention to Rachel. That smile now has a quality of triumph.

"Ready for our kiss?" Santana asks, her hand snaking around Rachel's waist and pulling them close. Rachel can feel the heat of the other's body through her dress and tries not to focus on how attracted she could be to the Latina if she wasn't so caught up on another girl.

"No," Rachel admits simply, deciding to keep even eye contact.

"Good," Santana says as if it were the answer she was looking for, "Only two minutes to go."

"Why won't you kiss Brittany?" Rachel asks, hoping she could stall Santana for those two minutes and miss the countdown so she wouldn't have to kiss her. If she doesn't kiss anybody, does that mean the chance to date Quinn is still there?

"Because I get to kiss her and do _much_ more _any_ time I want," the darker girl purrs. Rachel suppresses an eye roll. She can smell the alcohol on the girl's breath.

"Since when did we become friends?" Rachel starts again, keeping her hands light on Santana's hip and in her hand, despite the fingers that capture hers tightly.

"Please, Berry, we've been friends for a while," Santana scoffs, "When I finally got used to how annoying you were, I realized you aren't as bad as I thought and we could actually get along."

"Lucky me," Rachel deadpans, appearing to be distracted by something else in the room. A hand suddenly has her chin again and she's once again looking into dark, dark eyes.

"Do you know when you act disinterested or the slightest bit hard-to-get, it just makes me want you more?" Santana voices, her tone velvety thanks to her Hispanic background.

"Sucks to lose at your own game, huh?" Rachel fires back, getting a little fed up with Santana's antics. She just wants Quinn.

Santana opens her mouth to say something, her eyes narrowing predatorily, when someone shouts "Countdown!" and the volume on the TV is turned up. So much for stalling. Instead of saying anything, Santana's mouth curves into a suspecting smile and she pulls back to wait for the impending countdown.

Rachel's heartbeat spikes. She feels adrenaline begin to lace into her veins, the alcohol in her system doing little to make matters better. She glances at the TV behind Santana, the giant disco ball atop the tower lights up and a big screen below it begins the timer. A bright 10 flashes on the screen. Everyone in the room chants along, their voices combined. Her breath hitches even though she feels like not enough air is reaching her and she can't bear to look at Santana's face again.

Quinn isn't here.

Quinn isn't coming.

Quinn said she loves her and Rachel told her she loves her back. Puck said that kind of love would be enough but it obviously isn't because a giant 5 crashes against her, knocking more air out of her. She feels the tears prick her eyes, her mouth open without anything to say, and her hands go numb. With nowhere else to look and not wanting to see those damn numbers count down the last moments of 2012, her eyes meets Santana's.

What she is met with surprises her. Her dark eyes now hold a pinch of saddening recognition. That triumphant smile is gone and it suddenly occurs to Rachel that Santana understands how much Quinn truly means to her and isn't some game that started at the Christmas party.

The voices continue to cheer with the numbers.

Rachel blinks away tears and tries to register what it all means.

Santana takes a short breath and leans in, the furrow to her brow relaying just how sorry she is, the kiss no longer some kind of prize but a metaphor that interprets that if Quinn isn't here, then there is no relationship.

* * *

_January 1__st__, 2013 — 12:00 a.m._

* * *

"That's my kiss!" someone shatters the hysteria of reaching 1.

The room goes silent save the TV displaying the celebration of Time's Square and no one bothers to do anything about the volume.

Slipping out of Santana's grasp with no resistance, Rachel turns. Her heart stops. A tear slips down her cheek. She lets out a sharp sigh of astonishment.

The room parts to make way for Quinn as the stricken blonde hurries across the threshold. Rachel stands still, hoping this is true and not some twisted figment of her imagination, but when those hands cup her face and those lips transcend on hers, she knows it's not and Quinn is really kissing her. Her body melts against hers, her hands flying up to grasp Quinn's wrists so hard her knuckles turn white. She's pulling her close, kissing her deeper. Her eyes screw shut, tears still falling, making their cheeks slick. She feels Quinn's body release a held breath and somewhere in the background, in the distance of the world falling away like the day at the pond when Quinn said Rachel's three favorite words, the brunette can hear the ecstatic praise from their friends, all their dim shouts and applauds and whistles.

But none of them matter. Nothing matters.

Rachel is the first to break the kiss, pulling back to affirm that it is really Quinn. She's met with the hazel eyes she's come to adore, filled with unshed tears. Rachel lets a shred of laughter escape her damp lips, and flings herself into Quinn's arms. The blonde sobs into Rachel's neck, holding Rachel impossibly tight around the waist, keeping her suspended in the air, every line of their bodies pressed together. Hidden by the curtain of chestnut hair, Quinn begins to cry, holding the one person in her life that can make her feel like she is important, the one person in whose eyes she is perfect.

This is where they're meant to be and this is who their meant to be with.

* * *

**A/N: I've really fallen in love with this story and through my hectic schedule, have actually put some much more thought and detail into this story than I originally planned... so I apologize for taking so fucking long to write this whole chapter. I did have to fit like six days in here or something, so I hope you all forgive me.**

**I do have one last part to end the story with and it won't be nearly as long but just as sweet. I hope you have all enjoyed it as much as I have writing it!**

**Many loves and kisses!**

**-x**


	4. Part IV: Was It Fun?

**_Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel — Part IV_**

* * *

_January 1st, 2013 — what time?_

* * *

The door isn't even closed when Quinn is attacking Rachel. It wasn't that long ago that they were intimate together (while sober) but even in the days apart, with not seeing each other, with all the feelings and emotions and anticipation and anxiety just below the surface, threatening to simmer over, they were bound to crack... in the good way.

The door snaps shut but the noise is lost in the drone music that has started up again along with the cheering and celebration still happening in the living room, whether from the New Year or the exceptional kiss. Quinn's nimble fingers actually fumble on the lock before the smallest of clicks reports that they are safe and alone in the bathroom, no light needed. All Rachel needs is the guidance of her lips and hands to seek out Quinn as the girl presses her body against the smaller one between her and the door. Despite their crying, the absolutely terrifying moment when Rachel didn't think Quinn wasn't going to show and the terrifying moment Quinn thought Rachel wouldn't get her kiss to bring in the New Year and their new relationship, the atmosphere between them has shifted drastically.

Quinn's mouth is hot and hungry when it finds Rachel's lips, her teeth immediately taking a bit of plump skin and drawing out a moan at the borderline rough gnaw. Rachel can still feel herself shaking from the fear and daze at seeing the blonde part the crowd like the Red Sea. The way she literally took her from Santana's arms and claimed her, her tears mixing with the ones already on Rachel's cheeks, it was something unreal. She can't remember letting go of Quinn, of moving past everyone and bringing themselvse to the bathroom, but now, that isn't really what is at the forefront of her mind. How about the fact Quinn's hands now grasp her waist, pulling their bodies impossibly tighter, or how her hands seem to slide up into glossy hair in some familiar habit, taking fistfuls and returning the gnaw with a dart of her tongue, tasting Quinn's faint mouthwash. She prepared for this and it makes a tingle travel down her spine.

There comes a point where breathing is necessary and they separate, Quinn immediately moving to Rachel's neck instead. Her tongue peeks out, slick and warm against the muscle taut in Rachel's neck, and she works her way up to her ear. Her swollen lips brush against the brunette's shell of her ear, breathing huskily, and she whispers, "Happy New Year's, Rachel."

Rachel is at a loss for words, which is really something, unless of course she is with Quinn. In that case, everyone should just get used to the fact that this one girl is always going to steal the breath right from her lungs. Imagine trying to sing in front of her ever again.

_Focus, Rachel, Jesus—_

"_Fuck_," Rachel swears below her breath, eyes screwing shut even if the bathroom they're in is completely dark. Quinn hands have now made their way beneath her dress, hitching the fabric up to the top of her thighs, but her hands aren't stopping. Nails graze her hipbones, sending tiny electic bolts through her abdomen, as they claw at the waistband of her underwear. In moments, Quinn's hot mouth is missing from her neck, where she realizes the dull throb below the corner of her jaw is surely to become a hickey. Her underwear is torn down her legs and she barely has time to step out of them before she feels a peculiar sensation of warm air between her legs and realizes that Quinn is kneeling before her, mouth precariously close to her center. Through the darkness, Rachel can sense Quinn's eyes are searching for her face. Reaching out, her hands find that silky hair again and she shivers, a small moan escaping her, when hands smooth up her legs, massaging her thighs, before one seizes the back of her knee and lifts it over a shoulder.

A cry is pulled from Rachel when she feels a tongue lave through her, her head hitting the door without a thought of pain. Her fingers tense up, knotting hair, as that dangerous tongue works itself in Rachel's heat, circling the center of her throbbing and dipping into her entrance. One hand clutches her hip, keeping her from bucking and surely bruising her tailbone from pushing her against the door so hard, while the other hand slowly ascends her inner thigh, feather like and tantalizing. That mouth moves to her clit again and two fingers enter where Quinn's tongue was just attending. Against the grip of her hip, Rachel bucks out of reflex, her mouth hanging open while small groans roll from her throat. Quinn thrusts to the knuckle and flicks her tongue against her bud a few times before licking a trail up her lower abdomen until the dress stops her. Using the hand that was holding her down, effectively allowing Rachel to grind down on the fingers sliding into her, Quinn tugs the dress over Rachel's head, throwing it somewhere in the abyss behind them. Before a cool breeze can touch her bare body, Quinn's body is against her again, her hand still between them and curling fingers. Rachel moans but it's cut off by Quinn's mouth. Now, her mouth has a different, more delectable taste, and Rachel's brows furrow together are experiencing her own essence on Quinn's lips.

The pace of Quinn's fingers quicken, matching exactly the rhythm Rachel sets and increases. She grips the back of Quinn's neck, letting her body move to the tempo of their ministrations, their foreheads together as Quinn breathes heavily across Rachel's breasts and listens to the small shrieks coming from the singer. Rachel can feel the fire inside her spreading, her mind buzzing while nothing filters besides the dilating of nails against the back of Quinn's neck. Her mouth is starting to go dry, she can feel herself nearing the edge, her muscles quivering out of pleasure, and all she wants to hear right now is Quinn telling her she loves her, those three words causing the most blissful feeling she could ever imagine. And she does, whispering huskily, passionately, thick in the heated air between them, drawing her name out in a groan as though Rachel is stimulating her right then.

Starbursts explode before her eyes, seemingly illuminating the room though nothing has definition. Her body goes rigid, her legs trapping Quinn to the wrist, and she feels a hand wrap around her waist, pulling her flat against the blonde while a mouth sucks on her shoulder, teeth grazing. She wants to scream but gasps and pants are all that can be made at this point, the energy of her climax taking over. She rolls her hips against Quinn, who pushes her against the door again and rolls back into her, the material of her sundress strange against Rachel's bare skin and each movement serving to create some post-shockwave. After the appropriate amount of time, Rachel sags a little in Quinn's hold, floating down from her high, light-headed and satisfied. A dopey smile comes to her face and she thanks the lighting that Quinn can't make fun of her "cute smile". Retracting her claws from Quinn's shoulders, she moves her trembling hands to cup a proud jaw, guiding lips back to hers in a more loving way than the feral attacking they had begun with.

"I love you," Rachel murmurs back, her mouth still brushing Quinn's. She can feel a smile spread then, loving the way it feels against her skin, the very fact she can feel Quinn's happiness. Winding her arms around the girl's covered ribs, she hugs her, seeking warmth and finding it in the way those strong arms snake around her waist and a hand tickles up her spine to find the ends of her long hair to tug at playfully.

"We can't stay in here much longer," Quinn whispers a couple beats later, her mouth by Rachel's ear, kissing it. "I have someone I would like for you to meet."

"Really?" Rachel asks breathlessly, resting her head back on the door.

"Yes. I want you to meet Franny."

Rachel's cognitive process halts for a moment before starting back up. Franny? As in her _sister_, Franny Fabray?

"She brought me here," Quinn provides, like she had sensed Rachel's confusion, or read her mind. "Because of my parents, I was almost forbidden to go. I would have walked through the snow but Franny finally stood up to them. She drove me here because she didn't think it was fair what they have done to me."

"I have a lot to thank Franny for," Rachel replies, her tone suggestive. Quinn snickers and kisses her neck again. They remain in the intimate position for a few more moments, saying nothing else and enjoying holding each other. Rachel closes her eyes and lets her breathing return to normal, her insides fluttering now with the content of just getting to say Quinn is her girlfriend.

_Girlfriend._

Finally, Quinn takes a deep breath and lifts her right hand. Her fingers find the switch for the light and it flicks on. They both wince and squint at the light, having been adjusted to the darkness, and laugh. Quinn takes Rachel's dress from the small vanity it was thrown onto and hands it over, not bothering to hide her leering. Her hazel eyes, spectacularly bright, travel up Rachel's body and finds her eyes. The brunette blushes under the look and slips her dress back on, hoping it wouldn't be torn off her for the second time in the next few seconds. Joining Quinn at the sink, they wash their hands and fix their hair, especially Quinn who has to finger-comb tangles out. Turning her neck, Rachel can see the beginning of a hickey where she felt Quinn bite her. Flipping her hair onto her shoulder, her dark locks manage to cover it and hopefully, it won't come under scrutinize when they present themselves. Quinn snickers again, apparently proud.

When they open the door, Brittany flits by, whipping her shirt over her head and half-undressed. In her other hand is a Solo cup with whatever poison is making her more rambunctious than usual. Taking Rachel's hand, Quinn leads her into the living room, the smile on her face obvious that they, well Rachel really, had some amazing sex but the blonde got to get her to climax in record time. However, instead of getting to focus more on the details, Rachel spots who could only be Franny. She sits at the far side of the living room, on the couch, looking a little lost but smiling every few moments at something that amuses her, which more than often is Mike trying to teach Finn how to dance and will always be funny considering the blundering boy has no hope whatsoever. Franny looks a lot like Quinn, with blonde hair and pale skin, but even from the distance, Rachel can see her blue eyes. She holds her car keys, her fingers playing with them idly until she looks up and spots her sister and the diva walking over.

"Franny," Quinn greets as she brings Rachel over. "I'd like you to meet, Rachel." She faces said girl and beams, adding, "My girlfriend."

Rachel swears her heart stutters, except that it's a medical condition and as far as health goes, she's perfectly fine. She breaks into a smile and lifts her free right hand to shake the older sister's.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Franny," she says as the older sister takes her hand warmly. Looking at Franny is like looking at what Quinn will appear to be in a couple years. They are nearly the same height, Quinn the inch or two shorter. Franny's hair is longer, subtle waves ending on her chest. When she smiles, she can see their resemblance clearly.

"Likewise," Franny says. Her voice is slightly more pitched and just as smooth. Rachel vaguely wonders if she can sing as well. "I would like to say 'I have heard so much about you', but I have only heard a little in the past couple hours. As far as I can tell, you're worth being disowned for."

"Fran..." Quinn sighs, eyes casting downward momentarily. Rachel deflates a little, feeling a little like she is talking to Quinn when they were sophomores and the younger blonde was more passive-aggressive. Hearing that Quinn has been disowned is like a punch to the gut and she feels guilty, that this is really all her fault.

Franny shakes her head, lifting a sculpted brow, "I mean that in a good way, I promise. Anyone who can make my Lucy happy and means enough to her to want to go against our parents is worth it."

Looking back up, Quinn smiles, and in Rachel's hand, she can feel the tension release.

"I'm sure Lucy has told you that I have been visiting?" Franny assumes, returning to Rachel. It strikes her how much they are alike and perhaps Quinn had been the way she was because Franny could have been the same way and just followed in her footsteps.

"Yes, actually," Rachel answers, looking up at Quinn. Those hazel eyes are on her again and she becomes momentarily distracted.

"Then I am also sure you have heard things about me that may have not been the best," Franny sighs. Guilt flashes through Quinn's eyes before disappearing.

"I have heard some good things as well," Rachel admits, though it is not a total lie. She rubs her thumb soothingly over the back of Quinn's hand, unbeknownst. "And doing what you have done for the both of us tonight is the best thing anyone could have done. I love Quinn."

At this, both Quinn and Franny radiate happiness. The older sister looks between the two girls with an expression that says she has been wanting the best for her little sister and Quinn herself grins because Rachel has accepted her sister. She leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Rachel's temple, making butterflies tickle her stomach.

"I would just like you understand what is going to happen now," Franny begins to explain, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. Quinn looks towards her, confused by the lifting of her brow, and Rachel can only imagine this about their family issues that have risen from this. A pressure of panic settles on her chest. "I am leaving in a minute to go see mom and dad. I'll be packing some of your things tonight."

"Where will I go?" Quinn asks, and though she holds her composure, Rachel can detect worry lining her voice.

"With me," Franny replies, nodding solemnly. "I am renting an apartment in Lima until you finish your senior year and have a plan on what to do next. You can't live with mom and dad now, they wouldn't let you, and I wouldn't take you away from here to live with me in Massachusetts."

Rachel looks at Quinn as the blonde's mouth opens wordlessly in surprise. She looks like she is trying to say something, anything, but she says nothing, no smooth quip or sophisticated response. Rachel can feel the excitment bubbling up inside her, at the idea of Quinn having an accepting home even if it is just with her sister and not having to leave her new girlfriend. Quinn faces her again, the surprise of Franny's plan written all over her features. Rachel breaks into a laugh, ecstatic now, and jumps into arms that lag to catch her and then holds her so tight she can't breathe.

"Enjoy your New Year's," Franny laughs as Rachel finally drops down from Quinn's arms. She steps forward and hugs her sister, Quinn burying her face for a second in Franny's long hair, looking the picture-perfect siblings. Franny then turns to Rachel, smiling, and winks before leaning down to give the short brunette a hug as well. She feels like she could burst with happiness, hugging Franny with her full might. The tall blonde lets her go with another laugh, a noise that is so heartfelt, and steps past them. Looking over her shoulder, she says to Quinn, "Call me if you need me."

No sooner is Franny out the door that Puck leaps over, swaying before balancing himself, a look of pure jubilation on his face.

"So?" he asks, dark eyes moving between Quinn and Rachel. Rachel wants to blurt out what has happened but so much has occurred, it would just tumble out of her mouth without making a bit of sense. Quinn giggles and takes a breath, then finally says in the suspense, "I'm moving in with my sister and Rachel is officially my girlfriend."

Quite suddenly, his drink is raining down on them because he's whooping obnoxiously and has thrown his cup into the air. Rachel doesn't have room to care and just lets herself be taken up in the whirlwind of Puck's arms as he spins them around, though dangerously considering his drunken state. He does fall but just onto the couch, and reaches up to grab Quinn's hand to pull her over them. She falls with a yelp of surprise only to land in their laps, her arms falling around Rachel's shoulders to keep her from rolling off. She takes the opportunity to bring Rachel to her and kiss her earnestly, all their pent up feelings over the course of the night pouring into their kiss. There's movement beside Puck and they break to see Sam cheering as he sits and then passes out beers to Puck and the girls. Quinn takes hers, something attracting her attention as she does. She looks up at Santana as the Latina saunters over with Brittany hanging on her arm. Even if she felt bad about attempting to steal Rachel and the kiss, she doesn't show it with that smirk on her face.

"Didn't I say you have a girlfriend?" Quinn snips, perking a brow and fixing Santana with a joking but subtly threatening glare.

"If you weren't going to show up, someone has to take care of her and her _needs_," Santana responds, shrugging a shoulder. Brittany giggles and pecks Santana's cheek before teasingly announcing, "Sanny has a crush on Rache."

Quinn rolls her eyes and returns her attention to Rachel. Profusely blushing and hoping this won't affect their night, she gives a sheepish grin when Quinn says with admiration, "Who doesn't?" and presses their lips together again.

"Seriously? Get a room," Santana barks, lifting a cup to her mouth and taking a swig. "No one wants to watch you two make sweet lady love to make up for all the lost time since the _second _you two first met."

"You know what?" Quinn says brightly, breaking away to Rachel's disappointment and standing up only to take Rachel's hand and make her stand as well. "That's a good idea. Thank you, Santana. And while we are making _sweet lady love_, you can sit down here and mope over the fact you will never get to kiss my girlfriend. Enjoy your night."

With that, dominating Quinn takes over and she leads Rachel from the room, taking one long pull from her beer Sam handed her and slamming it down on a table on as she walks on towards the stairs. Rachel can only laugh and let herself be dragged along, knowing Quinn is true to her word and the idea of this attitude following them into the bedroom making an ache begin between her legs. She takes a drink of her beer and sets it on a stair step, ready to get to her bed.

* * *

_January 1st, 2013 — 11:47 a.m._

* * *

In the distance, Rachel can hear a ringing... one that doesn't belong inside her head from the party or from her alarm clock that she made sure to turn off the night before... or morning, whatever. Rousing herself from her lethargy, she turns her head to see Quinn's angelic face resting on her shoulder, still sound asleep with an arm thrown over her blanketed waist. Letting her eyes roam over smooth, unclothed skin, she follows the slope of Quinn's neck that gradually declines into the dip of her spine all the way to where the blanket stops her at the blonde's lower back. When she notices the red welt lines that are beginning to calm, Rachel bites her lip and has to look away if she doesn't want to wake Quinn just to jump her again.

The ringing starts again after stopping sometime during Rachel's gazing and she turns her head the other way. Lying beside her dress on the floor is her phone, the screen lighting up with a name and picture she can't quite discern from the distance as someone is calling her. It takes a little while to ease herself from under Quinn's body but the girl is so asleep she barely moves when Rachel steps nude from her bed. She watches Quinn nuzzle her face into the pillow, taking a deep sleepy sigh. She smiles and stoops to grab her phone, but that smile falters when she reads who is calling her.

Dad.

Stepping into the bathroom to grab her robe for something to make herself modest, she steps silently out into the hallway as she misses the third call. Swearing under her breath, she shuts the door with a soft click and pads all the way downstairs, wanting to be in the living room.

Immediately, she turns around. Santana and Brittany lie on the couch entangled with each other and Artie is thankfully still in his chair but pushed into a corner, his head propped up where the two walls meet, snoring. God knows who else is left in the house and she can't dare talk in front of them. If her talking wakes one of them up and they try interrupting her while on the phone with her dads, then... it just wouldn't be good.

There's really no other safe place so Rachel shuts herself in the same bathroom from last night, refusing to lean back against the door for the sake of staying sober and not remembering what Quinn did to her pushed up against it. She taps her touch screen to "Call Back" and sits down on the toilet, noticing the two beers set atop the sink and rolling her eyes.

"Rachel?" her dad answers within the first ring.

"Hi," Rachel says, trying to remain quiet but still speak loud enough to appear as though she is home alone. She most definitely is not.

"Is everything alright? Is your phone's volume up?" Her dad asks, sounding worried... and maybe a little suspicious.

"Yes, sorry," Rachel says, picking her voice up to seem like she is rushed. "I was taking a shower. I slept in again because Puck and Sam stopped by to celebrate New Year's with me, so I stayed up until at least one."

"Oh, that does make sense," her dad says off-speaker, like he is telling her daddy who might have assumed something along the lines of that. He returns. "Okay, good. I know this trip must be putting you out of whack."

"Out of _whack_?" Rachel repeats, stifling a laugh unsuccessfully. Her father chuckles.

"Just trying to keep up with you kids these days," her dad admits. "Anyways, we decided to cut the trip short. We'll be home in a couple of hours!"

Rachel has to resist bolting up from the toilet cover and panicking, though the latter is already happening and she has to swallow to keep it from affecting her speaking. Hoping her voice won't give her away, she says, "Really? That's great! I might actually have some friends over though, so don't be surprised. They wanted to stop by and see me, you know, say the whole 'I haven't seen you since last year!' bit."

Her father laughs and she can imagine him nodding on the other side of the line as he says, "Okay, that's great. We're about to board the plane that will land in Ohio, so it won't be too long. We'll make sure to stay out of your hair though, if you want to spend some more time with your friends. Your dad and I can just go out for something to eat. Ironically, we miss Breadstix."

Rachel laughs, though it seems a bit hollow. "Alright, well, I better finish getting ready. I'll see you guys soon! I love you."

"Okay, sweetheart, we love you too," and she can hear her daddy making a kissing noise in the background. She laughs genuinely before hanging up, and then the laughter stops.

Shit.

Darting out of the bathroom and up the stairs, she bursts into her room. She doesn't grab the door handle in time and the door slams against the wall. The noise causes Quinn to bolt upright in bed, the blankets falling away to expose her naked body, and of course, Rachel becomes derailed from the real problem. However, Quinn has already caught onto the panic she saw on Rachel's face before her breasts were exposed and she grabs the sheets to wrap around her body and stands.

"What's wrong?" she says, tucking the top of the sheets in to keep them from falling. She hurries around the bed and stops before Rachel, who is quickly becoming drowned in her panic again.

"My dads," she croaks, her voice failing. What is happening to her lately?

"What? Are they home?" Quinn asks, her eyes widening.

Rachel shakes her head and looks at the phone in her hands.

"They'll be home soon?" Quinn pushes, taking a step closer to look at the blank screen and then at Rachel's face again.

Rachel nods, the panic spiking. Quinn swears and rubs her nose as she thinks, looking around the room. She stops herself and steadies Rachel by placing her hands on her shoulders, forcing them to look each other in the eye.

"You need to go wake up Puck and have him start cleaning," she instructs, Rachel nodding along. "You and I need to take showers so I will take one now and you can get Puck into one as well."

"Santana and Brittany," Rachel manages to get out again. She isn't quite sure how her dads will react when they come home to the house a distaster or in the process of being cleaned. The worse trouble she's ever been in is for being suspended when she rigged the Student Elections so that Kurt could win. She was grounded and worst of all, forced to keep from singing.

"They're still here, aren't they?" Quinn answers the question herself.

"And Artie and whoever else," Rachel says, starting to talk again. Quinn nods, eyes reflecting the wheels turning in her head.

"Okay. Go wake up Puck and tell him to get everybody else up and out the door... except for Santana and Brittany. They can help clean. Alright?"

She grabs Rachel's face and pulls her into a passionate kiss, stealing her breath once again. When she pulls away, she has a smirk on her lips and she whispers, "Oh, and thanks for last night."

When she steps back, Rachel now confused at exactly what she was thanking her for, Quinn takes the sheets and spreads them to reveal her legs. Rachel gasps in recognition and in, well, arousal at the sight of the hickeys dotting Quinn's thighs and hips. The blonde giggles and twirls away, shutting the bathroom door behind herself and leaving Rachel to daydream about what exactly she did to Quinn last night. She kicks herself and turns away, almost running into the doorframe, to go find Puck.

Opening the door to her fathers' bedroom, she finds Puck sleeping at the head and Sam sleeping at the feet, still dressed with party hats tangled around their necks and Sam holding a beer bottle that appears to have dumped onto his shirt. Groaning at now having to do her parents' bedsheets for laundry, she stomps over and smacks Puck on the side of his bald head.

"What?" he whines angrily, sitting up.

"Puck," Rachel deadpans, staring at his _bald _head. "Puck, you're bald."

"Well, yeah, you have to shave most of your head for a mohawk," he says irritatedly, rubbing the spot above his ear and not realizing he is _completely bald_.

"No, I mean, you are bald. Totally," Rachel says, astonished.

It takes a moment for Puck to process what Rachel is saying, and then slowly, his hand runs over his head, where his strip of hair should be. He does this a couple of times, each time his eyes growing wider.

"Fuck!" he shouts abruptly, jumping from bed. The motion jostles Sam awake, slapping himself in the chest where he spilled his beer. He makes a disgruntled noise before sitting up and staring down at the beer splotch that spreads now that it isn't collected between his pecs.

In the bathroom, Puck is swearing repeatedly, and stepping just inside the door, Rachel watches as Puck turns his head each way he can, finding not a single hair left on his head.

"What the fuck happened!" a note of hysteria entering his voice now. He whips around, looking at Rachel with a lost and angered expression.

"I sort of like it," she mutters, looking away. An idea hits her and she looks back up, taking a step forward with her hand out. "Give me your phone."

"What?" Puck asks incredulously, patting his jean pocket where the outline of his phone sits. When Rachel says nothing but waits patiently, he takes it out with a groan and hands it over.

Flipping it open, she goes to his media files and finds what she was looking for—a video from last night. She smiles before she can stop herself, karma making its circle back to Puck for taking that video of her and Quinn at the Christmas Party. Selecting the video, it plays, once again noise blaring from the speakers. She watches as none other than Santana steps in front of Puck who sits belligerently drunk in a chair. She holds an electric razor, laughing psychotically as she grabs his chin and holds his head steady. She has no qualms in pressing the razor against his head and running it through his mohawk, chunks of his dark hair falling away. Now, as everyone bursts out laughing harder than before, there are two thin lines that remain from his proud mohawk. She runs the razor over his head again, shaving off any sign there was even hair on his head. Finn pops in the side of the frame, yelling about something dealing with the hair, and then smacking Puck's now bald head. Mercedes appears out of nowhere and grabs his head, kissing where his mohawk once trailed and rubbing it like you rub the belly of Buddha for good luck. The video ends and Rachel has a hand slapped over her mouth to keep the worst of her laughter from upsetting Puck.

"It was your idea, dude," Sam says, Rachel realizing he has been standing just behind her the whole time. She can smell the alcohol from his shirt and breath. Looking over her shoulder, she watches him rub a fist in his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm going to fucking _kill _Santana!" Puck threatens, turning back to the bathroom mirror and rubbing his bald head. "I can't be Puckzilla now if I don't have my trademark."

"It'll grow back, Noah, I promise," Rachel says. She hands over the phone and remembers why she came in here. Puck looks up and sees the worry flash in her eyes again, all anger pushed aside.

"Everything okay?" he asks, pocketing his phone. Sam steps beside her and places a hand on her shoulder.

"My dads will be home in a couple hours, the house is trashed, and we still have people here who need to leave not to mention the liquore cabinet," Rachel says in one breath, so it's easier to get out and say.

Puck and Sam look at each other, their faces dropping. Suddenly, Sam is stripping his clothing and tossing it at Puck, and before Rachel realizes what is happening, the blonde boy is naked and stepping into the shower, yelping at the spray of cold water before it turns warm. Puck yanks off his shirt and sidles past Rachel, running out and down the hallway. She turns, shutting the bathroom door, and runs after Puck, calling, "Santana, Brittany, and Sam can stay to help! The rest need to go home!"

"You bet your _ass _Santana is helping!" Puck hollers through the house. Rachel nearly stumbles down the last steps, having to catch her bathrobe to keep it from flying open, and she scoffs at the prospect of actually getting dressed.

When she enters the living room, Brittany is sitting up from Santana, rubbing her eyes against the light through the sliding doors. Santana mumbles something and turns over, burying her face in the couch cushions. Rushing over, Rachel helps Brittany up and then shakes the Latina.

"Santana! You need to get up!"

Her hand is smacked away and the girl replies muffled, "_Déjame en paz, chica._"

"No!" Rachel says, smacking the raven-haired girl in the arm with as much frustration as she can, which isn't much. She doesn't like physically hurting people. "Get up!"

"What do you want, Rachel?" Santana groans, rolling over. "Do you want that kiss now? I have to say, you aren't as appealing to me anymore."

"_Cállate_," Rachel snaps. This gets Santana's attention and she opens her bleary eyes to stare at Rachel in disgruntled confusion. "Yes, I pay attention in Spanish. Now get up and help clean! My dads are going to be home in a couple hours!"

"Why should I care?" Santana says, finally sitting up. Brittany makes a noise of frustration, stamping her foot, and says, "Santana, just get up. We can help, Rache."

"If you don't help," Puck interrupts, appearing from the kitchen and pointing a finger at the darker girl, obviously pissed. "Then I am going to shave a mohawk _into _your hair."

"Alright, alright," Santana mutters, waving her hands to dispel the negative energy and stands. "I'll help, just don't get your panties in a bunch. This'll be no problem, I've done stuff like this before."

Puck scoffs and walks away, muttering. Rachel rolls her eyes and notices movement at the stairs, glancing to see Quinn hurrying through the hallway into the living room as she brushes her wet hair and is dressed in what she wore the night before.

"Oh, the walk of shame," Santana jeers, smiling sweetly, stretching her arms above her head and making that sinful dress rise higher on her thighs. Rachel looks away and finds herself watching Brittany become mesmerized by the procession, like she doesn't get to sleep with the Hispanic girl every night of the week.

"You're wearing the same clothes from last night, too," Quinn snaps, running her fingers through her bangs and flipping them from her face. Rachel can't help but be slightly turned on by Quinn fresh from a shower and how defensive she gets against Santana.

"I never took them off," Santana corrects, winking. She moves around her, taking the brush from Quinn's hand, and says, "Come on, Britt. Our turn. Wouldn't want the daddy Berrys to wonder why we smell like a party."

"We can we take a shower together?" Brittany says excitedly, bouncing after her girlfriend. Santana laughs and nods, Brittany exclaiming, "Yay! My favorite!"

"Hi," Quinn says, turning to Rachel. She wraps her arms around her waist and pulls her in for a quick kiss. When she pulls away, Rachel lifts a hand to grab one of Quinn's wet locks, tugging it gently.

"You're cute when you're wet," Rachel jokes, smiling and resisting biting her lip.

"_Cute?_" Quinn questions, that brow piquing again. Rachel giggles. She steps from Quinn's arms and sighs.

"We really need to clean," Rachel says, even if she really just wants to be the one in a shower with her girlfriend.

"Are you going to tell your dads today?" Quinn asks, her face taking a quality of indifference like she is trying to hide how she really feels. Rachel actually hasn't though about that, having to worry about getting everything in order before actually having to face her parents. Now that it is presented to her, she knows she can just come out to her fathers and tell them that Quinn is her girlfriend, but she wants it to be more special than that. She wants them to have a dinner together or for her to sing about it, some grand performance that just shows that Quinn is different than all her past relationships, that this is the person she wants to be with.

Her hesitation to answer must have said she didn't want to tell them and Quinn didn't even bother trying to hide her upset. She just nods once and turns with resignation.

"Wait, Quinn! It's not what you think!" she says. She wants to slap herself in the face for saying some clichéd as that phrase but at least it works and Quinn turns, giving Rachel a scrutinizing look. She steps forward and takes the blonde's hand in both of hers, lifting it to her lips to kiss it. The action softens Quinn's expression but Rachel can still feel the hurt seeping through.

"I want to tell them but I want to do it some great way that shows them how much you mean to me, that you are more than just my girlfriend but also my best friend and someone I love so much," Rachel says, looking straight into Quinn's hazel. With each word, they soften until she realizes she had been stupid to think Rachel wouldn't tell them. She faces her completely and cups her cheek, kissing her tenderly. Rachel melts that way she does whenever Quinn touches her, wanting to forget what they should be doing and how they could be back upstairs in her bed.

"We'll figure it out when the time comes," Quinn whispers against her lips, her thumb stroking Rachel's cheekbone. "I'm sorry for thinking you wouldn't tell them."

"You don't need to apologize," Rachel whispers understandingly, eyes still closed to hold onto their kiss.

"Lovebirds!" Puck cuts the moment short. Apparently, his missing mohawk has just put him in a foul mood all around. "We have a house to clean up in just a couple hours! Keep it in your pants!"

Quinn scoffs and breaks away, giving Rachel a fleeting glance with a smile before hurrying into the kitchen. No sooner is the blonde gone then Sam comes down the stairs with a towel around his waist, escorting Mercedes to the door as she puts on his jacket. He has that adorable puppy smile on his face and he kisses her cheek, opening the door for her. She says something with a giggle and pats his bare chest before stepping out the door and shutting it. He does a small fist pump to himself and turns to see Rachel watching, bemused. A little smile appears on his face and he winks, then says, "The shower is open if you want to use it."

"Thank you," Rachel says, walking past him with a suspicious glint in her eye at his interaction with Mercedes. He just shrugs and walks into the kitchen as well, where Rachel can hear Quinn make some kind of comment on the fact he has no clothes on and he saying something that earns a smack.

* * *

_Later that day — 2:50 p.m._

* * *

The house became much cleaner in the shorter amount of time than it did the first time, even if the Christmas party was a catastrophy with the amount of people that tore through. Most of the Glee club had actually fallen asleep in her house and Rachel had been the one to find Finn down stairs in the basement show room, asleep on the futon with his shirt missing and "FRANKENTEEN" written over his chest like some kind of title for a show. She got him up and made sure he was alright to walk, let alone drive, but in the end, he thanked her for a great night and went home.

Showered, dressed, and clean, the six remaining friends step into the living room with their chores finished.

"All done?" Rachel asks, looking from one face to the other.

"I think so," Santana sighs, setting her hands on her hips.

"I already went out to dump off the trashbags so you dads wouldn't see them," Sam provides, appearing on the other side of Rachel that isn't occupied by Quinn.

"Since I can count, I took Puck's list of alcohol and made sure the liquor cabinet is okay," Brittany says, looking happy with herself. Quinn sniggers.

"I did of check of every drawer and cabinet like last time," Puck says, swiveling on his feet to take one last sweep of the room. "Think we should actually look like we were doing something before your dads come home?"

"Right," Rachel says, a bit breathlessly. She breaks away from the circle they had made to the DVD player by the TV. Opening the boxset of _Friends_, she selects a random season, takes out a random disk, and puts it in. Puck already has the remote in hand to change it to the right channel and presses play.

Santana and Brittany move off to a chair, the Latina curling up on her girlfriend's lap and whispering something in her ear to make her snicker. Sam and Puck flop down on one end of the couch, leaving the other half for Quinn and Rachel to seat themselves.

Taking her hand, Rachel follows the blonde to the cushions. They sit in unison, looking at one another with a smile. Something as simple as being able to sit together in front of their friends and in full knowing the two are together makes them more than content. Rachel can feel the emotion buzzing between them, see that favorite shine of hazel eyes, and closes the distance between them to give Quinn a quick, earnest kiss. Facing the TV, Rachel throwing her now sweatpant clad legs over Quinn's own legs and their hands still locked together, they watch the episode play out.

They get through the first episode before Santana has to get up to make something for them to eat and Puck asks for drinks as well. Of course, this results in some snide remark about how Santana isn't their waitress and Puck should take him and his bald head into the kitchen to get it himself, but she ends up returning with some cans of Coke that she found left over from whenever. Her and Brittany now sit on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Brittany pinches Sam's leg and the two start an almost sibling-like fight, the blonde boy nudging her roughly in the shoulder with his knee and Brittany pinching him again. Santana passes out the drinks except to Puck, who says something rather crass and rude about her before nearly falling over Sam and off the couch to grab himself a can.

During all their fighting, Quinn ducks her head, pressing her mouth to Rachel's neck, sprinkling kisses along the column of skin. It's sweet and teasing, not meaning to get Rachel riled up, but the girl just sitting close to her makes her want to rip off her clothes. She giggles and turns her head, forcing Quinn to look up, and catches her lips. They kiss, the other four and their jostling of the couch as Sam continues to kick Brittany and Santana gets onto her knees to yell at Puck about his stupid head, fading away.

Only the door opening stops them.

"Rachel!"

"We're home!"

Springing away from Quinn out of habit rather than not wanting to get caught kissing her, Rachel stands, taking a breath. She isn't sure why she is so nervous but she looks back at the five, Santana sinking to the floor again as Rachel prepares to meet her fathers. She thinks it's just the idea of getting caught and Rachel getting in some major trouble that makes them all appear a little worried, so she gives them a reassuring smile.

Walking into the entryway, she sees her fathers looking a little more tanned, and ruffled from the flight over. They're talking amongst themselves, setting their suitcases down, but when they notice Rachel approaching, they both straighten up with wide smiles on their faces.

"Did you miss us, honey?" her dad asks as she hugs them both, having to stand on her toes to match their height bending down.

"Of course!" Returning to her feet, she looks between them amusedly. "You two got some sun, didn't you?"

"I made sure to put sunscreen on him," her daddy says like Rachel would reprimand them if they didn't and he pats his husband on the back with a chuckle. "He still burnt a little but I think it did him some good."

"So, who all is over?" her dad says, returning to Rachel. "Anyone we know?"

"You just know Puck," Rachel says, turning to walk down the hallway. Puck appears around the corner, smiling with familiarity.

"Whoa, Noah!" her daddy exclaims, stepping ahead of them to rub a hand over Puck's now shaven head. "Where did the 'hawk go?"

He looks to Rachel like he is about to explain that some crazy Hispanic bitch shaved it off his head last night in a drunken stupor but he laughs and says, "Needed a change of pace. I can rock the baldie."

Both dads laugh and her dad says, "We'll see about that. Who else have you got hidden in the living room?"

Walking into the living room, Brittany immediately bounds to her feet and shakes each "Mr. Berry"'s hand, introducing herself. Santana and Quinn are slower to get to their feet, Santana actually looking a little more demure and doesn't say something stupid when she greets them. Rachel steps around everyone to grab Quinn's hand. The blonde gives Rachel a shy smile and it occurs to the singer that the only reason why Quinn would be hesitant in meeting her parents when she would normally act smooth and mannerly is because she has to basically come out to them, too. After her own parents, Rachel can see why she would be a little leery. Giving her a confident squeeze of her hand, Rachel decides what better way than to introduce Quinn as her girlfriend than being in front of her accepting friends who are all getting to know her fathers?

They wait patiently for everyone to finish talking, Quinn nervously and Rachel in anticipation. When her fathers turn to her again, they notice her fingers intertwined with Quinn's, their arms touching. Her daddy gives her an almost excited look but her dad is the first to speak. He raises a finger to point at Quinn and for a split second, Rachel swears everyone tenses.

"That's who we have been looking for," her dad praises, nodding with an approving smile on his face. Her daddy takes his husband's other hand and practically bounces on his toes, looking a lot more like Brittany.

"You've been looking for Quinn?" Rachel asks, now confused. She can feel Quinn's perplexity, unsure of how she should be reacting right now.

"Not exactly," her dad says, stepping up and placing a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder. Beneath the contact, Rachel can see Quinn relax, like the touch is relaying some kind of good vibe. "Rachel, we have always suspected that you were a little different in a way that is less conventional. You've had your fair share of boyfriends and even if you seemed totally enamored with them, your father and I could tell that you weren't completely happy."

"That may have just been that last boy she was dating," her daddy adds, waving his hand dismissively. "He was a nice enough boy but a little too dumb for our Rachel. He was also very tall and it scared me that he might eat her."

Rachel rolls her eyes at her fathers' crude analysis of Finn. They broke up on a more or less mutual term, and true she didn't have much feelings for him to begin with so it was easy to get over, but he is a nice friend to have. Either way, he isn't important right now.

"What were are trying to say," her dad says, looking towards Quinn now. She smiles a little and his hand squeezes her shoulder almost fatherly. "We have already known you'd find a girl. It has nothing to do with being raised by two gay fathers, it's just who you are. You are so loving and passionate that it makes it all the more harder for a man to step up to the plate."

All this is taking Rachel rather by surprise. She was supposed to be the one surprising her fathers, not the other way around. The fact that they have known she would turn out to be homosexual, though she would rather just say she loves Quinn and not have a label, is somewhat comforting but a little embarrassing. Is it that obvious to everyone else? Is that why people make so much fun of her? She glances at Santana, who gives her a supporting smile, and Rachel thinks back to when Santana was pushed out of the closet, having to face her lesbianism on someone else's terms. She suddenly has a lot more sympathy for the Latina, that the reason why she is so brash and insulting is because it's the only way to protect herself from everyone that wants to break her down for being different and falling in love with a girl.

"Well, I'll have you know," Rachel says, finally speaking up and facing her fathers. "Quinn isn't just any girl. She is my best friend and my girlfriend. I had always been quick to say I loved a guy but with Quinn, it took me much longer to realize and then even longer to say that I do love her."

Slowly, Rachel can feel Quinn's eyes land on her. When she looks up, there's a melancholic quality to Quinn's face, like what Rachel has said is the best thing that has ever been said about the blonde. Her eyes are shining and they look more like tears than that shine she has when she looks at the brunette.

Rachel's father pats Quinn's shoulder, gaining her attention. He smiles warmly and says, "Welcome to the Berry family. We're a little crazy but I have a feeling you already know that." With that, he pulls Quinn into a hug. She seems a bit taken off guard at first by the hug and then she almost curls up against his chest, hugging him back. It makes Rachel's heart ache at the fact that maybe Quinn's father never really hugged her that way. Her dad appears to notice this and hugs her a little tighter, rubbing her back.

Her daddy steps up and wraps an arm around Rachel's shoulders, hugging her and planting a kiss to the top of her head. He chuckles, his eyes on the four friends off to the side, where Puck and Sam fist-bump each other like Mission: Faberry has been a success and Santana hugs Brittany around her waist, watching with a smile of her own and not some snarky expression and remark about "the level of gay in this room is astronomical".

"So," her daddy speaks up in the silence. He pulls back to look properly down at Rachel with a very amused face. "How fun were the parties?"

* * *

**A/N: Oh, what's this? THE FINAL CHAPTER. I deserve a pat on the back considering my crippling writer's block. That or another Nerf bullet in my eye. Sorry for the suspense! I have you have enjoyed this story as much as I have writing it!**

**I'll be getting to updating _What It Takes_ soon, hopefully!**

**-xoxo**


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